The Crow Poem by Christoph Praus
The Crow
Her wings are broken, rain be-draggled,
I watch him hop, tap nerviously,
Though I want to take her,
And have him alight upon my arm,
She will not perch, and hops away;
Dangerously, across the tarmac,
And each step I take drives him,
Further into peril on my account,
So I walk away, she left to fate,
To the cruelties of iron, and her wit.
Thursday, May 14, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: birds
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5/5/2024 7:28:28 PM # 1.0.0.1119
