the death crow
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as I looked up and saw the black sky as usual ,in my home the cemetery. I stood up from my damp wood bed in my washers house. whenever a person dies and and his family and friends want to wash him up they come straight to my cemetery house. there I have to crouch underneath my wooden bed or sometimes even deep inside my old trunk. people always thought my trunk was a grave and never opened because no one came to carry it.
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