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Friday, November 15, 2013

A Solo Crow Cries

 



There's so much to do,
But the waving plants beckon,
And the cool fresh wind.



 



It's almost noon now;
The sun is bright and subdued--
Autumn paradox.



 



 Lush bush has turned brown;
But look--there are vibrant leaves--
Still, the green survives. 




Lawn is neatly trimmed--
The children must be inside;
Hens peck near the swing.





Lying on its side,
Weary ladder is broken;
Waiting for garbage.


A solo crow cries,
Again and again he calls;
At last he's answered.



 



Shadows paint the rock
And sculpt it with dark fingers,
Ignoring hardness.





I look for my friend,
Realizing that he's not there.
 
(Where could he have gone?)


 











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