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Nov 2019
cold the crow sighs
his black eyes
squinting in the light
the scarecrow squawks

his talon's---straw feet
strands brushing tottering colors
nestled in haphazard piles

and below in icy chill
I sigh
my nose buried in time
whose fallen minutes lay

haphazardly in a pile
of autumn handkerchiefs
and ribboned breaths..

leaf(v)ing much to be desired
Written by
     Nylee, Patrick, N, Pax, Shane and 2 others
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