The Herons Fly
As he spreads his wings
The wind flutters the feathers
Against a heron-dotted sky
Of deepest dark
A strong wind to fly
As granite boulders blackly rumble
Deepest voice as raindrops tumble
Down towards
The heron’s crown
The fields ablaze
With electric haze
And an ozone stench spices
As volts and death splices
The scene into a triptych
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