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It kept coming several days in a row
landing on the same bush of wild rose.
It strolled among rooks
like a newcomer from the underworld.
We didn't know its name then,
so we checked in the Atlas of Birds.
When we identified it at last
between twitters and thrushes,
it flew off and never came back.
Its hollow name, a title to glory,
hung on a branch like a snowflake.

Julian Kornhauser

The Southern Review

Spring 2009

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