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Weathered
Storms come and go,
devastation in their wake.
We weather them like old shingles.
Paint chipped, gray with age,
but still intact.
Stronger, because of the storms,
in spite of the storms.
They will come again
but each will add a new
dimension to whom I am
and whom I shall be.
So, I challenge them,
I stand in the eye of the hurricane.
I know not what more I can take.
I know not the limitations God has
imposed upon this mortal body of mine.
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