The way of the crow

The way of the crow

Is a sharp eye

A cold wind in the darkness

A nameless moon

Dipping behind the hill

A slow glide between

Shadowed trees

Invisible

As young lovers walk by.

I am a ghost

The age of passing

Is upon me

The more I wander

The further away

I get from the beginning

The air is crisper

In retrospect

There is purpose in reflection

It sheds light on my direction

At sunrise

When the gold leaves

Shimmer

I will remember

I have walked this way before

And will again.

When springtime blooms

The ghost in me

Warms with the memory

I am loved

Still held firmly,

Carried ever onward

Into the depths

Of the wildwood.

I cast a feeble shadow

But there is something

To linger here for

Summer will come

As summer does

And as a new sun, sets

I will rest,

Dappled in afterglow

And know

We will meet again

We will meet again.