The Crow
The crow perch upon the death tree
Listens for the night wind whispering
Names of expired souls
In the glow of moonlight
He wings toward Heaven
Grasping spirits fleeing life
Gather in his claws
He returns to deaths arms
And for a seed of corn
He releases the dead
At daybreak he caws
Than rest his feathers
On his favorite bare branch
Copyright © Fritz Purdum | Year Posted 2008
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