Storks stand in a tree,

gormless and grim,

wings outstretched and

reaping the hot sun.

We gawp and swear

at the heavens

through feather and gaping beak

that chews a soundless tune.

Naked trees are withered

hands that scratch

at the sky

to cover the watery

eyes of the Earth,

sighing hot

and weary for years

upon years.



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