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Francie Lynch May 2015
In the middle
Of a farmer's field,
Newly plowed
And sprouting yield,
Three turkey vultures
Shared a meal
Of something black
With great appeal.
They cleared away
Winter's offal,
Doing what
For them was natural.
I eyed with awe
How they conspired,
Before feathers splashed
In smoke and fire.
Senseless shooting.

— The End —