the crow

I stand 'neath the weeping sky's grey,
Where stone doth mark the end of day.
A crow, dark as sorrow's endless trend,
Holds my soul, in silence, to amend.

"As thou, oh crow, dost o'er us bend,
Thy call, a knell that doth resound,"
So echoes through the shrouded air,
A sound that strips the brave of dare.

In this garden of the mute,
Where time's hand hath played the lute,
I muse upon thy role, grim bird,
In life's last verse, thou art the word.

Thou art the shadow's silent thief,
Through twilight's gate, the night's chief.
Thy touch, a heart once red, now grey,
With silent love, thou lead'st the way.

From seeds of yore, thou grow'st a tree,
Bitter in fruit, from spirits free.
In dusk's domain, away from glare,
Dreams take wing on night's despair.

Oh, Blossom, once kissed by light's trend,
Now fades 'neath the crow's dark portend.
That steals through eve's soft, tender sight,
And touches all with gentle night.

Thy silent love has sown its creed,
In the graveyard's hush, a silent deed.
A Bitter Tree, with grief's own life,
Marks the end of each worldly strife.

So sing, dear crow, thy song of night,
Lead us souls to dawn's first light.
Where freed from earth's confining chain,
We'll dance on high, in the endless plain.