Words by Soberflight

poetry and musings

Month: January, 2016

The Crow

The Crow

 How graceful the crow
Soars over my home.
How wondrous! He’s free
To wander and roam.

Every bit as striking
As an eagle in flight,
High on the updrafts,
This bird dark as night.

But unlike the eagle
Not symbol is he,
He’s merely a thief
Who steals corn from me.

He trills no songs
Like a wren in the marsh,
His voice can be haughty,
Callous and harsh.

As long as he soars
Up there in the skies
I’ll admire from a distance
And watch as he flies. 





The statuette behind the glass
Is of a couple who’s grown old,
You can tell their love is something
That never can turn cold.

The woman’s eyes are focused
On his face, and he looks back.
My love and I both said, “That’s us!”
Even though they’re black.

I wasn’t going to buy it,
It’d be just more to clean,
But it seemed to speak to us
Like none we’d ever seen.

Her hand touches gently,
Cupping at his chin,
Her other hand rests on his,
She’s plump and he is thin.

She’s an Aunt Jemima,
White hair escapes her scarf,
He’s an Uncle Tom,
And they share a secret laugh.

The look they give each other
Is tender, deep, and real;
My love and I saw only that
For that is how we feel.

So I bought a new display  case
And I bought the figurines,
I had to buy them just because
That’s what our love means.