To Chat With a Raven
Wind whispers through fingers
of ebony black pinions
Head cocked to watch me
as he drifts past my eyes
Apprising and appraising
My place in his dominion
Head cocked to watch me
As he effortlessly flies
To a graceful landing
Atop a lodge-pole pine
Then the head cocked again
Ebon eyes locked on mine
As if posing the question
Without uttering a word
What is your place here
In my world?…asked the bird
The question was stated
As a guttural squawk
Yet understood quite plainly
If one can parse Raven talk
On my precarious perch
On my pre-Cambrian ledge
I pondered the question
As I looked down at the sedge
Five hundred feet down the bottom lies
Perhaps a bit more… or less
I peered into the raven’s obsidian eyes
And replied “not really sure, I confess”
Did I come here to leap
Did I come here to die
I was rather hoping
You could tell me why
He croaked, with a fluffing of feathers
“To leap, to die? no, not a reason so craven
The reason my son, and a very good one
Was your need to chat up a raven
Copyright © David O'Haolin Whalen | Year Posted 2012
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