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In the black season of deep winter
A storm of waves is roused
Along the expanse of the world.
Sad
are the birds of every meadow-plain
Except the ravens that feed on crimson blood
At the clamour of harsh winter -
Rough,
black, dark, smoky;
Dogs are vicious in cracking bones;
The iron pot is put on the fire
After the dark black day.
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