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silver snow-lit night
black crow scribes his epitaph
dragging broken wings

For three days, he held his position under the bird feeder, scrappy enough to scare off the squirrels.  Hopping around the yard and cawing like a fish monger, you’d think he was still king.  Last night, I watched him leave his post.  He made the arduous trek to the front field and disappeared.  I’ll remember him.

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