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Two melancholy blackbirds
Moping on a maple limb
At cold November's dawn.
Both-themselves together
For once in raucous song
Lift up their heads,
And sit quite complacently
Riding the windy waves
And eyeing the cold world blatantly
Until the icy blast of reality
Disperses all the hoary clouds.
Then both take flight
Far off into their separate ways again .
. The sparrow
Lands and looks about .
. Then he.too, flies away.
I found him the next day-
Fiying low, and searching
Over a vacant countryside.
TRINITY-MY WAY
Rub a dub dub, three men in a tub:
God, Man, and Beelzebub.
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