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Starvation and sorrow follow winter,
annihilation of the summer wind.
Searching the barren ground like the fat crow--
there is nothing. Nothing! My cold foot is pinned.
I am tempted to follow the archers,
paint bulls-eyes on the dark side of the sun.
Then I can measure my dreams in light years!
Ah! Nevermore is a poet's work done.
In my pocket are pennies that mingle.
Yet, they won't buy the warmth which I require.
Won't you sing for me that sweet lullaby?
Sonnet for a sonnet. My world's on fire!
How long until the winter sheds her skin?
Will the fat crow ever come back again?
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