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by Scott Cole Jan 31, 2016 category : Nature, environment / nature
That rare storm I do visit, I show my face Give you my digits. From red to violet My colors want run, All strung together To look like one. From the tips of my bows To the top of my head, Seven little colors Thats not put to bed. We work as a team Just a flash of beam, There's no crossing the lines Only living the dream. When all is said My picture show is done, If you couldn't look away Then both of us won.