The raven laughs

 

Outside the raven sings his song – the earth joins in and sings along.
A small bird thumps against the pane, I hope its neck is only sprained.
The things we’ve built upon this earth, to them this is their only worth…
The raven seeks the things we waste, the others family flees in haste.

A million answers on the air, a million questions seeking there.
Will any bring the truth for all?

The raven laughs!

Pretentious caw…

He says the truth is what he gives, he seeks it not – he simply lives.
He does not think like you and I, he simply lives – and then he dies.

The snowbird flies as summer wanes, his autumn skies bereft of grains,
that toiled on the prairies breeze, or broiled on the foamy seas.
They took the bounty that was there – through fire, water, earth and air,
and when it all began to change, they took to wing and flew down range.

The raven – he will stay right here – he knows the cold, and does not fear,
the icy chill of winters hand, that soon will be upon the land.
He knows the dumpsters will be filled, as will his belly – if its willed…
He knows these birds will leave behind, fallen brothers, he will find.

To them there is no wrong or right, there is no grief for others plight.
A solemn feeding, on the things, that once were treasured, once had wings…
The snowbird feeds then passes by, such wondrous frenzy in the sky.
They simply feed upon the things, the season brought – and always brings.

Awash in all the gifts of man – the need to think, the need to plan,
I see the lessons of the birds, the truth of all the dwindling herds,
their numbers so much larger when, our thoughts had not yet gone to pen.
Now carved in stone, our place will be, the victor writes the history…