"One crow
Slowly goes over me --- a hoarse coarse curse --- a shrill
Jeer: last of the past year or the first of the new,
He stones me in appalling tongues and tones, in his tried
And two black lingoes. A dirty word in the shine,
A flying tombstone and fleering smudge on the winter-white page
Of the sky, my heart lightens and leaps high: to hear
Him. And the silence. That sings now: out of the hills
And cold trees. Song I remember."
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