Call of lone curlew
turn down beak
outspread wings
resting on air.
...
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For some reason, this poem made me think of the Indian houses in New Mexico, USA. The bleak, lonely houses carved out of pure rock, so beautiful and so abandoned by a forgotten people. Scarlett
Love it. It truly touched and walked across my senses. Thank you.
This poem is solid. It really lets you step into the scene as you read these vivid words.