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The old raven roosts
on a tall dead branch
of the old, gnarled tree
winter's setting sun rests
on snow covered bough
Weep thou not for the past
your future die has been cast
the final act has come at last
emancipated from earthly toil
the silver thread is loosed
your liberated soul will soar
back to God who gave it.
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Author Notes
This worlds woes will pass.
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DonandVicki
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DonandVicki
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