Blackbird
In the wink the suns rays turn black to silver
In molten precision
He leaps; hopping
A mystic dance around his meal
Cloaked in glistening pitch
The whisper of each immaculate feather
brushing against the others
No more a flawless symphony could nature compose
than the sounds of a raven, being
Copyright © Heidi Coon | Year Posted 2019
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