I spot a black raven flying
Through mists that choke the dying
While black cats hide in thistledown
Their green eyes bleakly crying
- - - - - - - -
Briar patch and blackberry sharp
Do not hide the soothing angels harp
Just the shivering snivelling rabbit
Born to bear the rifles mark
- - - - - - -
So I hum my song of horror
And sniff the wind of terror
Soon the hound of doom will find me
Sharing the weasels gloomy cellar
- - - - - - -
I pray the mists are lifted
By the strength of those more gifted
Lest I lay here for eternity
And lo the mists be never lifted.
Geoffrey Fafard
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem