This Morning
I
Indira Renganathan
0
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This morning when sun was hiding in gloom
There arose a throng of cries with doom
I peeped out of the window to check what
Saw a dead crow condoled by crows lot
Cries were too pathetic high on pitch
That all the trees even looked low pitched
Clouds gathered fast to clear off the pathos
Poured and poured in their full compass
That dead crow was washed away very soon
As if by nature's rites in commiseration
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