The Crow

The crow is solemn among the branch, Staring at nothing but horizons and bark. The snow capped scene it did surround, in the quiet, sleepy and noisy town. The crow shudders its wings and wakes the snow in a hazy Clouded shroud the crow did go He had witnessed the inhabitants more than he dare see The abuse, the guile the festering fleas The rodents of theatre masquerading a foul vigor In duplicated ego, and whispered intuition. He saw the truth he saw the daily lies the grand hypocrisy The grand prevail. They cannot ere another fable the replica of tales repeats In ceaseless curiosity. He flaps amongst the cold air and feels the rush of europhia As he dances with ability, freedom and choice The crow moves in unstoppable momentum towards the observed horizon And behind the orange glow of life.