Crows Poem by Gis Prosefchi

The leaves' rustling is left unheard.
The cries of the crows' now crook-legged foe
Fill the frozen harassed woods
Fear blinked alive circling the mob's viciousness,
What they had once been circling is dead.

Nightmares with torn cloaks stay suspended in the sky,
Only when meeting its eye do you spy the fowl
Floating on sharp wind, disguised and sly.

Untrusting, slippery, egregious, gregarious
It pulls down to the earth like compressed spring
Then lifts as if the cold metal were slowly breaking,
Stretching its wings to take everything.