I could only afford a passing glance
to the raven as it glided,
absorbed in it’s own world in the sky,
but the image remains,
branded on my soul.
Oh to be that bird of prey
and soar high above the earth,
away from knowing, caring -
seeking but food to be satisfied.
What guides this enigma on wings?
It is far beyond the likes of me,
trapped on the ground,
prey to hopes and dreams
scattered on the wind
just out of reach.
The raven in all it’s glory
can never be content;
and when it flies away never to return, who will miss it?
Looking up, I see the heavens,
silent, calm, serene (peaceful).
Oh! To be that raven,
to look at the world we are left with
with eyes that will not cry.