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A Sonnet about a Crow
I hung myself on the first of July.
Hung myself right atop Picacho peak,
Where hard dry desert meets infinite sky;
Off between angels’ cries and demons’ shrieks.
But louder were the caws of some near crow
Who rasped joyfully, “This is the last place,”
He smiled, “There is nowhere else to go.”
Laughing vainly ‘til tears stream’d down his face.
And flew off into a veiled oasis,
Some realm my presence was not permitted,
Where mortality was not life's basis,
And creatures rivaled gods; ne’er submitted.
Oh that region knew neither pain nor death,
But I thought none of it aft’r my last breath.
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