Where we hide
The mist passed by
Only time, the days ask why
Wonder why she lives in vain
Something in the past remains
The storm had taken its toll on the old crow
She landed on the tree beside an unused nest
Hopping in, waiting out time
She knew this was the end
The crow would fly no more
When autumn leaves fall
And the trees retreat into the forest
Waiting on the arrival of winter
Animals scurry for the final gathering
Before the deep sleep beckens
The snow gently trickled through the trees
Covering the ground below
They found her there
Clutching a photo of a child long gone
The crow lay beside her
Some said the crow was the death sign
It was well known in folklore
The crow was a bad omen
Nothing good came in its presence
When, in reality, life had killed them both
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Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 3rd, 2026 04:14
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
- Users favorite of this poem: A.N., Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
A picture painted where time kills all and we need a better explanation which we shape into superstition. Well done my friend
Funny how superstition still run lives.
A conditioned reaction to random reward Skinner would say
What stayed with me most was the image of the crow lying beside her. It transforms everything that came before it, inviting the reader to see companionship where others only saw an omen. Beautifully done, Paul. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Paul, what a haunting piece. The changing seasons, the faithful presence of the crow, and the discovery at the end all build toward a conclusion that replaces superstition with compassion. That final realization is both heartbreaking and deeply moving. Powerful write, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Life gets in the way for some.
This poem carries a quiet, wintry sorrow where nature and loss fold into one another. The final turn reframes the omen beautifully, suggesting it wasn’t fate or symbol—but life itself—that bore the true weight of tragedy.
Life for some sure is a tragedy.
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