Poetry

Preen

No more carrion crows
a-carryin’ woes

Give me a baby lynx,
some fine-tuned hunter
without the strength to kill

Teach ’em all to cuddle
before they have to gnash and tear

I want to be there,
when they all huddle
for warmth

A crow caws in the distance

They know the cold,
they know
the end

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