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from the mouse

 

 

6132334438 31f7534aa8 z from the mouse

The morning sun

breaks down

and through

the damp windrows left by

the farmer’s rake

to dry

and there I wait

and feel

first warmth

creep through my tiny bones.

Hoping for more,

sun’s sweet caress,

the warm hay smells,

I moved an inch,

not far,

just that.

A dewdrop flashed sun

near my eye.

An instant chill foretold

the rush of wings,

a cold dark cloud,

my breath is crushed

mouth filled with blood

A talon through my heart.

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