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Robert McCallum

(7/30/49)

The Black Bird


O’ the black bird this final twilight brings,
He comes this night upon stealthy wings
And thus to this I am fraught with dread,
For darkness knells; O’ whither shall I tread?

Upon the ethereal wind this bird has flown,
Traversing the endless distance of the unknown
And he has transcended a grey December sky
To herald that now my end is nigh!

The black bird keeps against the brumal cold
That this bleak December does now unfold,
And tho’ he does not speak, as to name my fate,
Upon my casement does yet he wait!

Afire are his eyes that thru the darkness light
This my fearful turn into the night,
As withering and waning in his presence be
This craven spirit inside of me!

From where he comes, O’ I fear to go’
Whether godly heights or depths below,
Yet he does not move, as death does creep,
But at an ominous distance does he keep!

O’ upon this my night the bell shall toll,
Then advance shall he to prize my soul
And aloft shall he wing the cold night air
To convey me toward I know not where!

Submitted: Wednesday, October 09, 2013
Edited: Thursday, October 10, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

A poet awaits death whose spectre has come in the form of a raven.

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