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.