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Under a slumping guttered run
Into a snow cave the wren has gone,
now dripping from the evening
sun. Were it not a wing, it's
chancing its arm.
now dripping from the evening
sun. Were it not a wing, it's
chancing its arm.
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Last edited by Johntee; 03-12-2023, 03:07 AM. -
Hope brighter (and warmer) days soon meet your horizon. Still stunning the way you write it!
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