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The Crow

I look out the window

at winter’s soft snow

into the eyes

of the curious crow.

He stares back at me

made of complexity

as I cradle

my warm cup of tea.

He thinks of me rude

as I take in my brew

for I can,

as I’m sure in the mood.

He turns away now

looking off towards the town

where the people

still gather in crowds.

I’m ignored, it’s quite true,

for the crow’s left my view -

with our encounter 

known only by two.

~ Bill Breneman ~

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