Wise Words

As my foot falls
The crows begin to gather
Finding their places
In the silver tree above
As my breath clouds
The birds open their throats
A rasping, mocking discussion
Begins loudly over my head
As my eyes close
I think I hear what they say
And I must agree
As my skin shivers
Feathers would warm my bones
To fly would be a blessing
My legs wish I could follow
As the birds launch, swoop
And leave me, alone once again

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One thought on “Wise Words

  1. The anxiety of an uncertain decision, hideously compounded by the staring cackle of those far more knowledgable, is crystallised in the gathering of the crows.

    How the writer longs for such knowledge; to be confident in making the correct decision, alone and without challenge…

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