THE CROW
I, with basket and pins
headed for the sun bleached lines
headed for the sun bleached lines
suspended betwixt the T-posts of steel.
He, with glinting wings and piercing eyes
headed for the uppermost tip of the
highest branch of his chosen tree.
highest branch of his chosen tree.
I gazed towards him
he studied me
he studied me
he called three times
I smiled
I shook the towels
in the brilliant Saturday sun
and asked him if
and asked him if
he carried a message for me
I queried if he'd brought
a sign, an omen ?
He spread his handsome wings
gliding towards me, calling
Tho I was at first unsure if he carried
a sign, omen or message for me
I had no doubt why humans
have always acknowledged crows to be
mystical messengers
This day as I held a question
and formed a wish within my heart
I had no doubt why humans
have always acknowledged crows to be
mystical messengers
This day as I held a question
and formed a wish within my heart
he flew just past my shoulder
so close his wing tip
stirred the air, within reach of my cheek
As he passed his eye met mine
he continued calling
he spoke to me
the crow had delivered my answer...
so close his wing tip
stirred the air, within reach of my cheek
As he passed his eye met mine
he continued calling
he spoke to me
the crow had delivered my answer...
copyright IDF 2012
2 comments:
Lovely poem! Warm Blessings!~Amy
And are you so very sure that "he" was, indeed, a "he"? Perhaps it was me, touching you, as you have so touched me....
Your words are the sunlight on my wings....
Robin
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