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 a 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