She is breaking, cause it was taken,
And she can't ever bring it back.
No one knows about her dark mantle,
How she wears it tightly, to hide the slack.
She wears the feathers of the Raven,
The blessed and the skillful crow.
And flies high, near the skyline
With the dirty blackness not far below.
If she's above it, she's not part of it...
Perhaps then no one will ever know...
Why she's always needing,
Preening and smoke-screening,
So the truth about her will never show.
Lone crow, oh dark baby
Skims the surface as she goes..
Soaring, then nearly plunging
Into the cool river down below.
Tell me, have you ever thought on
The skill of a crow?
Meloo/Melissa A Howells Copyright 2004
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