Tuesday, November 18, 2014

The Crow

A ragged eye watches a ragged tree, 
where ragged leaves just hung.

Cold water beads on their skin,
and turns to ice in their veins,
visible in the sun's examination.
They will fall, each by each.

Below, a man with an axe
and a strong arm
bites the trunk and
spits the chips upon the snow.

Beneath his feet,
unquiet worms turn in the earth.

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