Solitude
Solitude
Perched high on deadwood, far above
An old crow awaits, the return of love
These years gone by, she has been gone
Each day he returns, no voice, no song
In Stoic silence, his vigil is true
To the one and only, who ever knew
The soul of this one, his only mate
As days grow short, he will always wait
Stoic
Copyright © Stephen Allen | Year Posted 2012
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