May 10, 2017
Milk and Bone
Silent white crow Is your beak broke What fortune has befallen you Silent like night Crestfallen behind pines Nestled in close Under cypress bark And white Like a dove If only beauty were a pigment And not a face or soul Perhaps your story would presented Instead of told Eyes jet black And feathers soft Caressing Gentle, in the hands Of the last person To ever touch Those unfortunate wings As the red becomes more apparent Though the black would have hid it And you Would have never been found
