To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
Turn Arnound The Seasons Ravens, black as pitch Standing guard on the peaks Calling to one another Calling for a mate “Here I am, here I am” “Come to me. See me here. I have beautiful black feathers all preened. I can make beautiful babies… Come to me, come to me” Meanwhile, a lonely patch of snow now crystallized in the hot spring air. It will feed down to the roots and nourish perhaps the Raven’s babies. |
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!