Lonely Calls (day 230)

The cool coyote called
Late that night
As it made its way
Along the crest of the horizon
Scarcely lit by the large moon
Making its slow arched escape
Into another day

Alone the tree stood
Frozen in the season
Along the crest of the horizon
Calling out to the edge
Its cousins long gone to the chain
But a distant memory still remains
Never again, the stumps burned away

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