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variations on change
to be a youth , and not know the pain
of letting go , true, but also the sting
the burn of the rain ,
that runs down your skin and reminds you again
to be a queen , and not know the loss
that hangs heavy over each cottage door -
draped like wash - day sheets ;
not white , not black , but something all the same
to be a crow , and fly on a whim
to every hidden place , every ocean rim
and tree - branch limb ;
free to examine every carcase and doe
that falls below -
oh , to be a crow !
o h , t o b e a c r o w !
My attempts of being a poet
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