When the crow sings it’s crooked song,
I reply with a heart of a cactus,
Singing back with sullen eyes,
Clear as the open sky before us,
The mockingjay cackles with irony,
Slowly retreating to its prison of words,
The crow calls again, similar to before,
But this time, a black rose holds my tongue,
I’m foolish in the face of the past;
An eye of deceit in the lock of a door,
Surely, I wasn’t to do this again.
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Comments1
Brilliant!
thank you for choosing to share, dear Poet
(the first two lines
make a complete Poem
just on their own)
'When crow's, sing
their crooked, song
I reply, with
a heart of a cactus..'
You're right! Thanks for this interesting discovery.
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