Friend Crow
Why do you still flee from me, friend Crow?
I can clearly see you, don’t you know?
High up in my tree, your black wings show!
Fly down here to me; don’t give me woe.
Sigh. You must stay free. Then go, Crow, go!
Sky high soon you’ll be, and I . . . below.
July 2, 2020
for the Triple Rhyme Poetry Contest of Beth Evans
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2020
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