Only The Crows Knows


The crows would visit from dawn to dusk, blue-black feathers gleaming in Summer’s sun

A murder, they were, this ominous flock, their numbers growing by the day

At the service of their Master, Death, they refused to go away 

I’d watch intently as they planned to capture a new, unsuspecting man

Then, by the guidance of the Master’s hand, they took my love away 

Since the moment that he died, until this very one

Nary a crow has put foot to this ground, their job is over…finished…done 

And I am left to sorrow, deep

Drowning in it, I never sleep

And I keep my eyes out for the crows

Because, of all superstitions, this I know, is as true as truth can be 

And I’ll keep watch through my window, until they come for me 

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