There are fires that are burning
In little homesteads churning
Out the milk
And fraught and fought
With the captain from the fort
But he just won't let them go
Along the paths of gravel
Where they travel through four feet of snow
And I should have guessed
What a mess it all would show
After I abandoned the best
That the country had let go
And yet we each must pass the test
Of the coal black crow
Who chooses life and death
From her branch throne of hedgerow
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