The Raven Call

The Raven Call

From embers charred and dying
Silken black wings spreading free
The dark and glistening eye
Seeing all before it clearly

The raven call is known
To all that glide in circles high
Curling winds rising grown
Echoing the passerine cry

The common wait patiently
For a warning yell
Guarding against raptors all faithfully
Never alone all is well

Caution as they step crabwise
Towards the strange unknown
A glance that clearly spies
One not of their very own

Then turning slyly away
With a gentle carefree hop
Rising on outspread wings
Alighting high on a treetop

L. D. Sumner, November the 27th 2017 ©

A private mythology

(Inspired by a title of a book)

 

This is my private mythology:

the wind chasing the runaway leaves,

snowflakes marching on the rooftops,

raindrops piercing the deaf city,

sunshine painting the garden green.

This is a Walden inside a Walden

where solitude crowds my days and

Nature’s company isolates me at night.

I walled this world with words

against the barbaric silence.

My tears water this garden,

zephyr brushes the trees and

the sun bathes the leaves its color.

This is my private mythology.

 

 

First published in The Germ