Around rubied feathers lie
Ashes dusting thine
Branches with meager
Orange particle weavers

Blackened beak speaks
Alone in a wood
Echoing off of trunks
And crackling tree boughs

Ashes crisp with dew
Tumble down the branches
Dusting the leaves
With their passings

Cast to the forest bed
From the tall canopy
Of grey canvasing
And precise paintings

Where the snow and ash meet
Crunching under phoenix feet
Talons searching for things lost
By those whom are avanti

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