Dagdia Island
Life in the trenches

The Raven, The Crow and The Lark

Sorrowful notes fall upon my dancing heart
as tears upon the heaving flame.
Soothing words that once quenched a thirsty throat
be wrested from my mind,
leave no evidence of thy presence hereafter
The wilted rose bore hues of red and pink,
colorless remains of blushing cheeks.
How now? Thy honorable, ghostly Knight,
warrior for truth, slayer of tyranny,
wordsmith of whispers fluttering on rippling winds,
barely breathed, little more than vapor swiftly dispersed.
Darkened, steadfast eyes of the raven, turned irksome crow
lurks on yonder bough.
Haunting memory, find fascination nay fancy
more neatly near your nest.
Thy cawing colors my complexion an irritable and saddened shade of grey.
At the dawning of day, the lark lifts my weary lids with a lively melody,
a hopeful song of all things passing.
His heart, small and fickle, ventures far from roaring fires.
Oh, the safe, sensible, happy lark.
©MG Mack


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