The Crow
Thick and damp October air
Crouched heavy on the grass
Charcoal eyes threw solemn stare
On those who dared to pass
The old oak rose from foggy dawn
Her elbows jagged the sky
A bold crow spoke in gargled tone
In summons from on high
Enchanted Chorus of the crow
What little beauty gained
Your time unfolds in tales of woe
You lurk where demons reigned
You cry to mourn the night that passed
Before the breaking dawn
You cry until your spell is cast
Or sunlight bids you gone
Adorned in capes of crusty branch
Like bandits crouched in caves
Until the shades of night advance
Be still your cackled raves
But when the ghouls of night enroll
Desert this wooded crypt
Thrust forth your wing of blackened coal
Cast inkblots on the script
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