The Old Crow
Posted on 02. Jul, 2007 by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dedicated Poems, Featured
Sitting above the backroom,
the gray sulfur of indiscretion
billowing beneath my perch.
Voices of sinful conversation,
reaching my ears,
playing amongst my thoughts.
Old crow, black and lost,
Watching through the rain,
wondering if anyone cared.
Peaceful and stubborn,
a life that didn’t have reason,
or even worthwhile consideration.
Old crow, discarded and soiled,
upon the wire that holds no weight
dark water raining from the stars.