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Comments about Oran Brucks
Seasons Of My Silence
As the seasons of my silence grow,
Cherished sounds grown dim that I used to know
Like winter forests, tree boughs lie silent
their rapping, tapping grown mute, buried beneath layers of snow.
Willows, frozen hard as steel no longer shake or rattle
Or of icy lake no creak or cackle.
Of Crows I see as before,
But Ravens at my door knock nevermore.
Springs sudden rains, feed streams in freshet, an rivers tumultuously rush,
Filled by melting and pelting, over precipices they fall
The sounds of them are ...