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Chuckling fieldfares
And bundles of blackbirds
Shaking loose crystal
from the dark hawthorn tree
I can see through the cloud
Of my frosty breath
To the white of the icy moss
The gently rounded wingbeat
Of a dignified Heron
Sails before a golden sun
Flying into his morning
And the light shines up
From the icy road
Blinding me
And illuminating my way.

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