The Raven Caw
The ravens come
in a flock of dark winged hums,
rushing spatter of clustered migrations done
hanging on the weather fluctuations spun/
Black and bold ebony swarthy struts
large bodies birded scruffs,
scavengers of leftover seeds, treats and nuts
bantering loud and indiscreet sound cuts.
Field strewn emerging caws
hover in the trees with pointed claws
resounding distant screeching over all
yielding to the darkness as it falls.
Poe heard their resonating scratch
upon the ear's distinctive latch
and in his horror wrote the poem to match
life's breath and heartbeat snatched.
Whispering a silence longed for
he marked and recorded every score
for you and me the reader's very core
he quoth the ravens never more.
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