The raven calls into the dark of night.
Such a being of wisdom, and seen with fright.
But, the Raven, he flies, and he flies so free.
With nowhere to go, nowhere to be.
 This Raven, I speak of, for he has no home.
Nowhere to be, constant to roam.
But he has a place, one place to be-
This is the one where he truly feels free.
His being may be dark, his look may be black.
But, there is a secret he hides much aback.
For the one he calls⊠dove.
He flies and he flies, to find this love.
The word rings in his mind: âDove, dove, dove.â
There she is, waiting for him in that dark of the night.
And they come together, the colors of black and white.
He then spoke the words, not one bit of a strife,
âI love you always, you are the moon of my life.â
This is where the raven finds his home.
and with his dove, his love-
And so the dove flew him âneath the rains of storms high above the world,
cloud menaced and swirled.
But as the water touched the black of his feathers,
something new was shown within the weather.
Stripped of the tar that coated him like death so tightly grasped,
white were his feathers and he spoke no longer rasped.
They sang as the sun parted the clouds and darkened sky,
( A little poem I had written not too long ago with the help of @lumenwolf and I just wanted to share it! <3 )
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