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The stormcrow circles, casting its gimlet gaze over the scene of wreckage and carnage. The carrion birds have so many places To visit, so many unseeing eyes to peck, All victims of hate, and fear, And unceasing, burning anger. From a hidden branch another bird watches, Fearing its moment may never return. It waits, patiently, biding its time - will the Dove ever fly again?
The carrion birds have so many places To visit, so many unseeing eyes to peck, All victims of hate, and fear, And unceasing, burning anger.
From a hidden branch another bird watches, Fearing its moment may never return. It waits, patiently, biding its time - will the Dove ever fly again?
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