Crows
Devyn Delgado


At half-through noon,
right passed the hour,
I gazed on a succulent cherry-tree flower.

Its dashing cream pedals
were radiant, like light
provoking my thoughts of oppression and fright.

Then, unlike any eerie dark sound I had heard,
my ears succumbed to the sharp sound of a bird.

To my surprise, dismay, and hands hung low,
my eyes caught a sight of a lingering crow.
T'was my sixth dark fowl I had seen that week.
1,2, and 3 had appeared beside me.

Mere coinsidense? I thought,
when I'd seen 4 and 5.
But the sixth..
oh the sixth..was the face of demise.

See- that week, the week prior
to my sightings of crows,
had been strewn with bad things-
things of new, things of old.

I had gone mad, yes I had,
from the mouth of others-
speaking of lust, envy and hate for their mothers.

See that week, the week prior
to my sightings of crows,
had been strewn with bad words,
words of new, words of old.

I had cursed to the skies,
"Please replace those vile shows-
replace them with wordless, emotionless crows."

So I sung high a promise
that was heard from the skies,
that my mouth would forever be free of demise.