Crows Poem by Chard DeNiord

Crows



The crows were talking in the pines.
How they reveled in rudeness,
half laughing, half crying
as they told the truth straight out
again and again, as if all the world were deaf.
It was a strange, ironic love that kept them aloft.
Turned each insult into a dark new feather.

Thursday, September 22, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: ironic
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Chard DeNiord

Chard DeNiord

New Haven, Connecticut
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