The Sound of a Crow

(I thank my Aunt for this poem's existence, for she'd composed the first two lines which I then asked if I could adopt and extend into a larger poem.) ___ The sound of a crow In the early morning mist, Conversing, sweeping low 'midst a lilac mane of snow And choirs of the missed All aloof in sunny glow. Heaps of cooling mountain air That hum luminous in the dark, Gliding aloft and fair 'round our spirits and our hair, Woodland hymns so green and stark Heir us higher than we've dared. The ghost of a rose 'gainst our thoughts in repose Have repelled midnight foes Who had sought to dispose The lovely light disclosed From a higher Light that knows. The crow spies us here In the early morning mist, Knowing not of our fear: A violent, vain frontier, Yet now is a benevolent gift, What exists is our moment: it is dear, Not twist.