Tale of An Old Crow
I was hiking in the hills, and I was talking to the air
when a fork in the path, took me first here,... and then, there
Prickly thickets, were aflame with brilliant crimson,
entrapping my feet, with a pin-cushion prison
The foxgloves too, grew in mass profusion
My head in a state of blind confusion
Granite rocks were wearing saffron, golden
Clouds up above, blending, enfolding
The hills were hidden in the cloudy mist
The mountains were turning deep amethyst
Dilemma lay ahead in my all my decisions
I stumbled along, without much precision
Grass bending low, between the boulders
Gulls screamed higher, wind getting colder
I would forge on ahead, over ditches and water,
as the ebb of the day, was getting darker and darker
There was a fork, in the trail near a sage scrub tree
where the needles on the ground, wore a carpet lined with weeds,
The pine was tethered in its place by the rust-red sky,
Brown and dead at the top, where a crow was sitting by
~
On long ago nights, when we sat by the lamp
I remembered one tale, that had come from my Gramps
The fastest way home was......as the crow flies
So I waited, awhile, .......He led me home, by and by
__________________________________________________________
For The Rhyme Contest: Sponsored by Juli Michelle
10/5/13
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
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