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The birds have all been packing
To go to some place warm
But I find myself still standing
In the warpath of the storm
They chip and screech to warn me
The crows pace back and forth
Their black eyes see the danger
But I discount its worth
Alighted on the rooftops
The sparrows speak my name
In gossiping of foolishness
And instincts that are now tame
They form a storm-cloud gathering
Of sparrows, robins and crows
and abandon me to the icy wind
that in my direction blows