The Ravens Cry
Words fade, born twice and live spans slowly,
Mankind, an orphan of the universe, sits unholy.
Ravens cry a ceasing cry, looking mute to sunshine,
They fly freely, singing soft notes to simply confine.
Sun bears hard downward on the big Mississippi town,
Ravens sit in shade patiently plotting a meal so needed.
Poor farmer, poor sharecropper, beg ravens to just look down,
Only a truck patch, one plow, one woman, a life done seeded.
A proud conspiracy, says the travelin’ preacher
Sad souls in sand with no feet, a strange teacher.
Walk proudly, ravens black, stay from the sack
Land softly, ravens quite and find your sad life back.
© 2020 Kenneth Avery