A Crow’s Last Call
It was time to rise and roost
For the hopping hero in the glade;
A ruthless shot rang out and shook him,
He soared on fluttering wings but failed.
Friends gathered from all around
To heed the fall of the flying one
Whose clever eyes glowed proud and warm
In the light of the dying sun.
Crowed pages and pages of a war that wages
Between the ill provided and the well revered;
Crowed bitter slogans and mob refrains –
Forsake the fooled, revenge the feared.
Cried with compassion, filled the sky with pain,
Recalled the failing flight and grief;
Through the roaring dirge the dying one
Spoke weary-eyed with grave relief:
“Mere rifts hold our lives together,
Our gifted lot leads bludgeoned souls;
Those fed to follow some cloistered light
Are often blind to nature’s scrolls.
“Eyes rage and wade through blood in writ,
Eyes soon invent the sorest lies;
If struck some day by a rose’s blush,
The red then turns them blind.
“When we can’t foresee we give in
To angst, tears, trust or sighs;
We are more or less the same
Before life begins, beyond promised lies.
“May wisdom quell your hatred long
Before your dying day; may you
Know I was wrong to fight mere wrongs,
To flee myself and let you stray.”
As the moment bled along to the end
Tears washed away his worst surprise –
He’d never nudge his crouching love
To show shooting stars and fireflies.
