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Poem: Crow 

There’s a rustling in the shadow
that oily, iridescent crow
harbinger of all that I dread
fluttering trapped inside my head
and always just behind my back
a flash of wing, a smudge of black
fear clawing, cawing harsh and low
one gleaming feather in the snow
reminding me, lest I forget
the cunning crow is no one’s pet.

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Speaking of Poetry

  • A poem by Eileen Van Hook.


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