Heron - Poem by Richard George
you are too slow for our time:
your dangling legs and wing-span
set an ample target
for the murder of hoodies.
every year you watch them fly:
you land, turn trigger statue
and catch and eat your only friend,
the primordial fish.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye