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As the Crow Dies
Look down at me
From thy beak
Give me thou crow like stare
Feed my fear
With darkened glare
Feathers erased by air
Pages many
Thy secrets held
Our hubris was a trap
Spells dispelled
Thy wings expand
In the night thee flap
Moon in sky
This is thy realm
Dark spirits are afloat
A cursed bird
No friends or foe
Never to sing a note
Books in piles
Will not be read
The writers all long dead
Language has passed
Along with Man
We didn’t listen to what was said.
Copyright ©
Richard Lamoureux
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