Poetic Justice
On a windy rain-swept day
When a murder of crows I see,
Their ruffled feathers ragged
Sorrowful as they can be.
Huddled they perch on roof-tops
Gazing mournfully at the sky,
No ray of hope the day gives
Neither crumbs of morsels dry.
They remind me of poets
Singed by the rigours of their fate,
Peddling hopes for the living
Their lives a pitiful wait.
That heavens would pour mercy
On their weary crucified souls,
That fate pen a reversal
Of their oft mistaken roles.
Decried as stray vagabonds
Beseeching alms at corners dark,
They are monarchs in disguise
Beggared mortals fail to mark.
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