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A Feast of Lanterns, by L. Cranmer-Byng, [1916], at


The little lonely crow
Hovered around a little empty nest,
Waiting and wailing for the mother breast.
Ah! cold and far afield she cannot hear
The call incredulous of death. And so
It lurked in the old forest for a year.
And through the night its little piteous cry
Brought tears to all who wandered nigh;
As though in broken song it would repay
The debt of life to her who silent lay.
All other nestlings know a mother's care;
Thou, only thou shalt find not anywhere,
Nor warm dark wings fold down on thy despair.

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