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Mar 16
The song of the winter crow rings-
heavy and mournful and slow.
So loud and long a song he sings,
but such is the way of the crow.

"Look up, look out," he cries aloft,
with a voice neither sweet nor soft;
with a wing-tip flick he glides below
and lands in the drifted snow.

Above, a storm yet to storm-
below, a tree yet to sprout.
Night-time ice slowly starting to form
and the crow, wheeling about.
a poor robert frost imitation
Written by
daycrow  19/F/ocean's rim
(19/F/ocean's rim)   
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