Mr Crow, why are you flying in the rain.
In thunder and lightning you must refrain.
Find a tree, wait and see. Let it be.
Not that tree, Mr Crow. That’s the bare tree; can't you see.
Go to the tree with leaves, surely you can see.
No point looking at me, Mr Crow, I’m indoors.
Lightning won't strike me.
Why do you sit on the bare tree, Mr Crow
Tell me, I need to know.
Do you have a death wish.
Don’t stare at me, Mr Crow. Take my advice, you know I’m right.
What is wrong with you, it’s like.
Are you taunting me, Mr Crow.
You’re taunting me.
Are you mad
You’re sitting on the bare tree, defying death.
What the hell is wrong with you.
You want me out there.
You want me to join you.
Only a fool would sit on the bare tree.
Waiting for that strike, can’t you see.
I’m lying Mr Crow, I know
You’re waiting
It’s time to go
Let us sit together
Let the storm blow
I remember the fear now, Mr crow
That day, you know
The ship, the storm, being below
In the water
Lost from view
The lightning strike
The final few
The storm is dying, Mr Crow
Seems strange
Feel I’m born anew
I watch you fly away
Only to return
To salute the few
You made me see, Mr Crow
Now it’s time to pay my dues
Someday I’ll return, you’ll see
We’ll be together
Finally, at rest
Beneath the bare tree.
-
Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 7th, 2026 07:14
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship, Tristan Robert Lange
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Comments6
Interesting poem combined with effective rhymes.
Mr Crow like a shaman of memory, or psychopomp of remembrance! 🙏🏻🕊️
This seems to be me yelling at my children when they did stupid things that would put them at jeopardy. A great metaphor and personification in this write Paul. A fun story as well for what we see as common sense for others may not be. Many birds do not seem to mind getting wet and as for a lightning rod leaves would not protect. When I go out in lightning I and tap my head and say put it right there a challenge to nature. Have had some close calls but no hits yet.
Well said
What a powerful poem, Paul. The crow and the bare tree gradually open a door into buried fear and memory, and by the end that same place of danger has become somewhere of acceptance and rest. Dark, moving, and beautifully done, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Sometimes I do wonder if a departure from reality may not be an altogether bad thing...
Your write held me to the end, Paul.
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