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Dark and Withered Friend

Aloft atop a covered roof, laden with rough and rigid snow,

stood strutting dressed in liquid black, an old and withered crow.

An old and ancient warrior from a time his peers forgot,

though peers he had so few this day, death came to most the lot.

His left eye planted deep within aged and wrinkled skin,

a happy painless eternal life is all he couldn’t win.

Right eye torn out, wings stapled through,

a blinking disk was buttoned too.

A patriot running his last race

perched on the rooftops snowy face.

With a loud screech and a one eyed glare, as distance carries through the night,

comes a bald and terror of a sight,

ramming through the wind causing a wreck,

quickly breaking the black crow's neck.

Feasting on black feathered guts,

pecking and prying with sharpened cuts,

a warrior once brave and tall,

has finally left his warrior's call.

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