Birds of Bliss
The snow was gone
Displaying rotten leaves,
The crows gaily tossed
The decomposing heaps;
(Perhaps the smell of leaves
Was dear to their nose)
The youth were piercing trees
In synchronizing spurt;
I thought the crows were bleak
Harbingers of the woe -
I saw the Birds of Bliss
Oblivious of the snow.
1 March 2019
VP
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