© G. V. 06-11-2013, All Rights Reserved
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He knows the fog that counts his steps tonight
So proud, the crow, stands on the wires, alone;
what made him bleed before the brinks of light,
defined by emptiness and mountain stone?
The fog surrounds the crow in early dark
what else deserved to be once more recalled
remained to warn the souls that stare and hark
"this shroud descends your being to enfold".
Ethereal, departs on his ascension trail,
stouthearted is his life's long path, my Lord;
the crow unfolds in white engulfing veil,
his stalwart wings on Mistral's wailing chord.
And infinite became his nightly flight,
above the cedars croaked his skyward rite.
© G.V. 06-11-2013 All rights reserved