At middle age
a man is wise to watch crows.
They are bold
and alone or in company
they are at home.
They carry no bible,
they make politics
only one day at a time,
and the sky is their roof.
Men face one choice above all
and that is how to die.
I will die like a crow,
out of doors, in a ruffle
of feathers and dry leaves
one eye at heaven
dry and fading like fall,
with nothing in between.
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