© G. V. 06-11-2013, All Rights Reserved
He knows the fog that counts his steps tonight
Proud soul, the crow, that stands on wires alone;
what made him bleed on paths of faded light,
defined by emptiness and mountain stone?
The mists surround the crow in early dark
what else deserved to be once more recalled
remained to warn the souls that stare and hark
"this blur has come your feelings to enfold".
Ethereal soul fled to ascension trail,
stouthearted is his life's long path, my Lord,
the crow unfolds in white engulfing veil,
his stalwart wings on winter's wailing chord.
And infinite became in mists his flight,
above the cedars croaked his skyward rite.
© G.V. 06-11-2013 All rights reserved