One Bird and then Three
The world is empty and black.
Lonely and cold, it sprawls ahead.
I am swallowed in pitch dark.
Alone.
After some time a quiet gray,
The slightest hint of light,
Differentiates the sky,
And the gentle departure of the night.
A stark contrast gains my eye.
One bird, and then three,
Four black birds southerly fly.
Alone again.
No color still and far from home,
One bird and then three,
Find a love-less existence.
Not cursed by memory,
Only innocent and honest pain,
Is theirs.
Southward, before the light they fly.
One bird and then three,
Never as one.
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