This fletcher, a cherub, an archer has chosen a roan and named her Murder, after the crows, for she is a host. This fletcher, a rider, a rotor, a sort of gilled gator now acts farrier, retreads hooves with a clip and a shove. This fletcher retired, his shuck and feather replaced with ruby warble, a signal again to battle, again to toil. A horse to an arrow like a hug to a kiss, prays this aging artisan for his long-wished armistice. Down by the river, Murder like a feather practices the shudder and frisk.
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