Swiftly soaring
In the darkest night
Is the midnight crow,
Once, all alone,
Listening to crickets in the night.
Watching, waiting,
Is the wolf for she--
The midnight crow,
To drift down low.
He listens to the crickets in the night.
A rage of wind
Brings the wolf his prey.
The midnight crow,
She spirals, slow,
Listening to crickets in the night.
Softly, slowly,
He slips forth to greet
The midnight crow
That waits below,
Listening to crickets in the night.
But now he sees,
As the wolf looks down--
The midnight crow--
Her eyes that know.
He listens to the crickets in the night.
For dawn, for dusk,
He then finds her gaze--
The midnight crow,
In moonlight's glow.
And they listen to the crickets in the night, singing,
"What fire, what flame?
Only wolf at night
With his midnight crow--
The sun has died, long ago.
If time should pass,
If the wolf should turn,
If the midnight crow
Finds the wind should blow;
If night should flee,
If they cease to breathe--
This, the midnight crow
And the wolf never show,
Only listen, quietly, to the crickets in the night."
So they listen, quietly, to the crickets in the night,
While night lasts not
And the wolf sees light;
And the midnight crow
Feels cold wind blow.
He listens to the crickets in the night.
And with one last glance,
The wolf bounds away--
Leaving the midnight crow
Again, all alone,
Listening to crickets in the night.
YOU ARE READING
Prison of Stone
Poetryʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ғʟʏ ᴀᴡᴀʏ, ɪ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛs ᴀɴᴅ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs ᴀɴᴅ ʙɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ sᴏɴɢ. One journey from the depths of the sea to the edges of the universe. One life that takes us in a thousand different directions yet leaves us chained as we tr...
