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To Waken An Old Lady

 Old age is
a flight of small
cheeping birds
skimming
bare trees
above a snow glaze.
Gaining and failing they are buffeted by a dark wind— But what? On harsh weedstalks the flock has rested— the snow is covered with broken seed husks and the wind tempered with a shrill piping of plenty.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
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