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A Robin

Ghost-grey the fall of night

Ice-bound the lane,

Lone in the dying light

Flits he again;

Lurking where the shadows steal,

Perched in his coat of blood,

Manís homestead at his heel,

Death-still the wood.

 

Odd restless child; itís dark;

All winds are flown

But this one wizardís Ė hark!

Stone clapped on stone!

Changeling and solitary,

Secret and sharp and small,

Flits he from tree to tree,

Calling on all.

 

~Walter De la Mare

 

20-Oct-2003

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