Old Crow
Old crow
Tired and lazy’ against the day
Dark skies
Lost in blacks and whites and grays
Howling north wind
Sure takes a man’s fight away
Wastelands,
A dreamer’s home on his best day
Hard rain
Drops the leaves and makes the colors fade
And talks cheap,
But for the words of time they’ll ave the last say
Oh the words of time, they’ll have the last say
And the harvest is in, it wasn’t much
May I have enough to get by
The baskets were light, not a muscle ached
And somehow I feel I’m going to die
The winter is coming and the signs say hard
I’ve never seen such a haunting sky
For on the mountains, frost in the wind
And somehow I feel I’m going to die
Full moon
Lonely above the old oak tree line
Old crow
Hanging empty in the black sky
And a nighthawk
Circles her in silence as she flies
Old crow, all alone she flies
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This was a fantastic read.
Even though it carries a dark vibe, I appreciate your penamnship.
I enjoy reading different styles of ink.
It allows me to be inspired & venture into a broader range of creating.
Tfs, friend.