Some paths are blessed --
the ones we do not walk alone;
the ones where the crow
sits in the tree, chuckling,
and when you stop to watch,
he swims away to a farther branch
as if to invite you up into his world.
"Mah," he murmurs, "Mah, Mah,"
in a tone of wonder, and you wonder
who is he calling, and why?
Meanwhile the trees hover, or loom,
depending on your mood.
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