Melancholia
I am the rook afar-
of soot and grating voice formed
to your reflection in my distant eye;
and yet-
I am not so black as I appear
from wings outstretched
I soar and observe,
watching life pass me below
the land beneath doesn't seem so threatening from on high
but should my wings break,
my spirit crushed, my feathers plucked
I would fall to earth in silence
spiralling in descent,
and you would see
My feathers are shot through with the most beautiful purple and blue
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