For still the crow squawks and always on high.
Wicked laughter sounds and hearts bleed empty.
The black bird's chant causes the soul to cry.
Leave, crow. Go back to whoever sent thee.
Graves are dug when the crow comes into town.
Fortune leaves and bad luck always abounds.
The crow binds the strong man and throws him down.
The righteous can be knocked off solid grounds.
The black bird feeds depressed and anxious moods.
The overwhelmed falter and take their lives.
It's call induces fear and anger broods.
His bellow calls and draws out wicked drives.
Time develops wisdom to know and grow.
Wisdom equips to build the life long dreamed.
Hope is there- even if it doesn't show.
Rejoice, even the crow can be redeemed.
Evil shakes and falls at brotherly love.
The crow shed its evil; now it's a dove.
Copyright © David Cardamone | Year Posted 2018