The raven crows upon green grass
A smudge of darkness upon such brightness
Hopping, wings folded to its sides
Exploring it's new surroundings where
It does not fit
Among the sparrows, a black predator
Among the trees, a dark shadow
Among the grass, still yet un-fitting
It crows again, meek
Cursing its dark plumage
Hating its glossy black feathers
Wanting to be someone else
A swallow, owl, falcon, anyone
But itself
But then night creeps in
Stealthily, silently, like a thief
And the crow blends in just right
One with the shadows
One with the darkness
There it spreads it's wings
And takes flight into the night
YOU ARE READING
Tears Of The Rose
PoetryA. Ton. Of. Random. Poems. Just warning you. The poem that inspired the title of this book: Tears of the Rose A rose Is a prickly thing Armed with barbed thorns Stinging like thousands of merciless Bees that hover protectively Over their prize. Rose...
