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A rapid thaw
Has streams in spate
The world is green again
Sighing woods
Are full of small birds
Singing
Blackbirds chant their glory
Towards a silver sky.
A sudden rush
A blur of slate-blue,
Cream and yellow
His terrible eye
His grasping claws
Make feathers fly
The hawk has struck.
He twists away
To celebrate
His lucky day

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