As the Crow flies

A long line.
A crow looks down;
At the purposeful procession?
An aspiring line
But jagged –
Merely a throwback to independent action.

I sit here.
That is my choice;
Peeking for signs of, progression?
My prey hales
With arm outstretched –
A break at last to my mindless contemplation.

A cityscape.
Where does the crow go;
Must it really fly so, high?
To Liverpool Street
And a long yearning ache –
Oh to feel that wind under its wings.

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