Second for the sunrise
Position by the shed
Earliest worm
Has gone to bed
Even the grizzly fang
Has a smile disguised
Even though rotten, stained
Somewhere a trickling bubbles inside
Ruffians, from underneath
Crawling beneath
Soil, silt and clay
Perhaps hidden for many a day
A cavity for the flourished root
Leeching truth
A raven, dark yet pure
Circling, emulating
Patterns playing in the vulture’s head
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