FEBRUARY
It was your hatred for February that first endeared you to me, old friend
What you called its impertinent brevity, its indecisiveness and squalor
Though the heart of winter, it lacked all conviction
Now it is February again and I wonder if you were speaking in earnest
Perhaps there was something else under your skin that you couldn't openly confess
Something colder even than the biting wind of that month you despised
CROWS
The crows think they run this town
Who could blame them?
They caw loudly and fly around wherever they want
The hawks are larger, but they don't mess with the crows
The people dread the cold and cower inside
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