Solitude

 

Perched high on deadwood, far above

An old crow awaits, the return of love

These years gone by, she has been gone

Each day he returns, no voice, no song

 

In Stoic silence, his vigil is true

To the one and only, who ever knew

The soul of this one, his only mate

As days grow short, he will always wait

 

Stoic

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