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The raven spoke


The raven spoke from the tree

Of love and fidelity

Though I love, my presence cries

Of olden blasted gunshot-fire.

I can’t blame the courtly bird

For scolding me / So warningly

Even though I never shared

In that cruel inhumanity

Which never managed to see

Such wisdom told from so high.

And though I regret the cry

Sense a bird that one day might

Relax himself of his fright.

Perhaps to my inane wave

Rex might nod to some low knave.


The next time we ventured near

And the same place quietly there

- Branched high up the conifer -

He sat with no anxious care

As still as the dusky air.

Was he looking / Or just thinking?

The raven king had no fear

Far round his realm he did peer

With no wish to disappear.

As for us, we did not dare

To trespass any closer;

Afraid to corrupt this sheer

Peaceful fathomless pleasure.

We stayed, and stayed a small tear

For a life so unendeared.

© RM Meyer

Winswell Water, June 2019