The ghosts of white ravens fill the air like fragrant smoke. 
Ethereal apparitions, ever higher they serenely soar. 
Prophetic beauties, sacred creatures, declaimers of truth.
Singing a mellifluous melody, unrestrained and honey-soaked.
Poe’s melancholic elegy of his lost Lenore. 
His solitary black raven’s mournful lament. 
In requiem, these majestic corvids threnody. 
My alabaster, ivory ...

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