Two crows, black crows
cawing
across fields.
Caw, caw,
cold are the fields.
Wind squalling across the fields,
over the waters, over the Alps
lurks the winter.
Caw, caw,
the squall lunges off the Alps.
The squall lunges,
hunger strides the fields,
hoar-frost fields.
Caw, caw,
still miles from home.
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