Crow

Crow

Oblivious black. A rag on a branch
Nonchalant at height
He knows the fall won’t kill him
For his wings will flap at the air
And make the lightness of being
A natural thing
Such ignorance as I impute
Is actually magnificent
Implacable. Mute. Absorbed
It is only me who is troubled
So what if he wears black

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