The Screecher of the Cemetery

The screecher of the cemetery: You fly in between the headstones And hide away in the bell tower When the dawn comes. You know the names of all who are dead— At night, you call to them softly, And seek out new arrivals for you to bless. Out of your own sacrifice, you leave them gifts: A pine cone or a dandelion or two— A little something for good luck. The next day, when you return, All that will be left will be the seedless stalk Of the dandelion you gave away.