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  5. My mother, who hates thunderstorms, Holds up each summer...

My mother, who hates thunderstorms, Holds up each summer day and shakes It out suspiciously, lest swarms Of grape-dark clouds are lurking there.

Philip Larkin
Summer, Mother, Hate
Philip Larkin, “Mother, Summer, I”
My mother, who hates thunderstorms, Holds up each summer day and shakes It out suspiciously, lest swarms Of grape-dark clouds are lurking there.