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The Crows Ahead Cry War

Wayfarer

Dusk, a primal vibrant red; violent
Clouds, seeping color - the crows cry out war

The plains, they tremble - anxious, the night brings blood
The cold bitter night, awaiting flame and fury
Swift like the night, the riders descend

The braves circle around; torches to the night, arrows to the dawn
The smoke marks an early grave, it rises with the Sun