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Dec 2021
Come sundown,
weary silhouettes
stretch over
autumn
land,
the Crow
watches quietly
perched
high,
still.
Stretches of fields
disappear
underneath
looming
skyscrapers
suddenly;
strange­ crowds
rush over
phantoms of
lush vines.
Her
feathers
have lost
their majesty,
her spirit
listless in
concrete jungles,
waiting for home.
Havran
Written by
Havran
159
 
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