The Crow Poem by kendall thomas
The Crow
I hear your repeated syllable
of loneliness and despair
come across this ploughed meadow
as I search for arrowheads.
Ancient bird,
watching from your pine perch,
remembering
the campfires
of those who brought us here
and their prayers
that went up like smoke in the wind
leaving only some stone intentions
to survive.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
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5/7/2024 10:09:53 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I have some of those arrowheads my grandfather collected for me and wear one around my neck. I hope that some of those intentions are carried around in my blood. Wonderful, wonderful poem! !