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by David D. Horowitz
Thin branches blacken in the twilight, nest
Now visible against the golden-turquoise west.
Nest balancing at confluence, its linking twigs
Could serve still as a home; could cup in woody twist
Cheeps, chirps, and dawn song; could protect a clan
Of crows or robins from the summer's frying pan,
From predators and storms. Our winter blizzards past,
Warmth seeping back, it proves its worth, was built to last.