oh! it’s poetry month!

into this evening, this evening of mist and
silvery-grey clouds
flies the crow, the big, big, crow,
can you see it – ?
no you can’t, it’s made of stuff you can’t touch
but it’s there, can you feel it – ?
aaah, yes, abrakadabra
the evening crow with its big wings, and on its back
the large mage of night,
with those coat-wings that touch your dreams and you wake up
knowing, KNOWING it was true, and you shiver and fall back asleep
and when your eyes open again, you wonder
was that a shiver of dread, of wonder, delight?
can you hear it – ?
was THAT the bird that just flew by, shadowing clouds
that still bear a feather of pink?

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