A
cool autumn day,
hundreds
of blackbirds
gather
as leaves
from
every branch
of
a sycamore tree,
singing
all a discordant
bird
call symphony,
and
in turn some gather,
some
fly away.
Then,
if by command,
not
one chirp, screech
or
peep to be heard,
as
off into the cool
autumn
day, a swift
winged
formation—
the
sudden silent cloud
of
blackness flies away.
Chris
Hanch 12-13-17
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