Crow
Crow
Sometimes the crow sits beside me on his wooden fence
He acknowledges I am here then listens to the world for his own amusement
His eyes are black but alive in a sense that everything he sees is poignant
His body also black but also very pristine like a suit made by the government
The lies he sees are preposterous and he harks at people’s discontent
The world is very complex he knows but there is a final judgement
The crow tells all to the Grim Reaper and all people’s devilment
The crow eats vermin for the flesh and the blood keeps him vigilant
It must be hard for an intelligent bird to sit so long and see confinement
The bird has wings but they only use them to flee animal’s punishment
Sometimes the crow sits beside me on his wooden fence.
Copyright © Peter Kiggin | Year Posted 2014
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