Written 19 February 2026 for 1444 Up To You Poetry Contest Sponsored By Brian Strand
When ravens croak at mid of night Their echoes spiral to the sky, A solemn sound shifts on the breeze, A sullen chill flows in the high. My mind commences to roam free, A darkened thought begins to chime Distant shadows, I start to see, Or maybe just the turning time. I sense their voices sharp and deep, A language I can almost guess, Secrets that the tree leaves keep, While the world waltzes warmly to rest. I listen close and hold my breath, Shaping myself to greet my plight, Reminisce life and silent death In the grim darkness of the night. Perhaps not death, just quiet rest, While the weather is cold and grey, As ravens know what serves me best To grace the earth anew someday.
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