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annh Apr 2020
Do not deny me,
The lines between us read;
A footnote of a smile

A miniature novella
Cradled in my palm;
Your hand held

Written in our familiar aspect
An epic journey of the soul;
A quiet collision
Of two still quieter gestures.

'There is more to hear in what is not said.'
- Rachelle Joyce
The cawing crow,
Object of strife,
Does have its place
Here in this life.
Its hue is dark
Its numbers rife.
It sounds of caw
And not a fife.
To the farmer
And to his wife,
The crow is but
A fowl most trife.

— The End —