The Crow

The black crow flaps above me,

Trailing my troubled mind,

Leering, luring, teasing, tempting,

Pecking me from behind.

Whence forth he came,

I'm not so sure the moment or the time;

But in black swept and has been yet

Fitting the scene of the crime.

Yet, one point long ago

I fought the crow off with my bow.

I drew it back and fired

And with strength, I let it go.

And though I did not pierce him straight,

I gave him such a fright,

He faltered and he faded

And bled into the ebony night.

But as the years have left me now,

The Crow, he has returned.

An albatross I cannot shed,

A lesson I have not learned.

And lo, I ponder with what ease

Accepting the dark may come,

A thoughtless choice so frightening,

As a feathered wing blocking the sun.

Yet, I know the crow can be thwarted

And have seen others stand in their field.

With clanging drums and steely eyes,

Their stronghold without yield.

I long to be that scarecrow

Whose peaceable force will not sway.

Alas, I grow so frightened

That I oft feel dismay.

But when I glance behind me now

And see your own dark wretch,

I reach my hand and out comes yours

And gently, they both catch.

We are faster. We can fight

United our avian foes.

With brightness ahead of us, lighting the way,

Together we battle the crows.