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The Raven

Ravens call the night
There chilling sound
Calling to their pray
For change is quickening
Their feathers feel it
It rides on winds
Whispers in branches
Hidden in old oaks
Evaporating
Forming to bitter rain
That calls the thunder
Ravens spy the lighting
They see its target
They know the change
Knowing the answer
Understanding the reason
Following the path
The ravens sense it
Change is here

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