A Murder of Crows

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Black shapes glide overhead

Wave upon wave

Cawing loudly,

Calling their corvid brethren.

 

They swoop down

Roosting on treetops--

Golden, green, bare-twigged--

Like an autumn harvest

Of great black pears

Rich with fabled wisdom.

 

Solitary, flightless

I stand transfixed.

Full moon rises smoky,

Penumbral shadow.

I gaze at the dark heralds

Of Ancient Grandmother.

 

 



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This page contains a single entry by Alakananda Ma published on October 19, 2013 2:15 PM.

Afghanistan, 7 April 2013 was the previous entry in this blog.

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