Old Crow who knows
To not squint at the Sun
Its blazon melancholy arc
Each new day. Black eventually turns grey.
That young world wanting waiting
Nest walls high
New nights raging
Fields spread their menus
Thrashing jumping wings
In outrageous energy
A panoply of new green spring sings.
Strong Crow struts
Blue black feathers sleek
Rides the unknown winds well
Midnight moon falls unthinkable.
Gently fading healthy feathers sag
Long way down. Still soar occasionally
Crow sometimes is unsure
Night nearer draws its comfort.
Crow now knows – just time
No wistful wishing safe nest walls
The midnight darkness calls
His head hangs between the now grey wings.