Black raven perched high atop,
the junipers in rows.
Keen eyes pierce the farmer's crop,
mid scavengers of crows.
Tail feather quill of glossy sheen,
of stiff but hollow shaft.
In winged flight on wind unseen,
embrace the swift updraft.
For legend speaks of raven tales,
in darkness to procure.
When sorcery and death prevail,
upon the misty moor.
The Tower of London shall fall,
if the ravens fly away.
When they abandon, bricks will fall,
old English folk'lores say.
Carrion diet, croaking voice,
intimidating bird.
Souls of the damned, name of choice.
in German stories heard.
Gregarious, called rooks and crows
wil roost atop tall trees.
New tilled soil the farmer sows,
eat seeds upon the breeze.
A bird of omens dark and bleak,
this messenger for Poe.
In stature tall of small birds weak,
dark image tales bestow.
Posted on 7/3/2007 8:36:31 AM
