Ghosts and Crows
Ghosts and Crows
A crow flew past me.
Close and fast.
The breath from her wing
Smelled of roosts and
Broken roofs
And ghosts in
Forgotten rooms
Where love was made
And children played.
But not these days.
Flying home that night
The crow dropped a feather
At my door.
Was it for luck or love,
Or something else?
Something I don't know
Anymore?
Copyright © Bob Cassidy | Year Posted 2005
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