My Friend, the Crow
by Claire L. McDonough
The crow, concerned with naught,
Looks down upon terrain.
Lands where rabid wars were fought,
Where Lifeblood left a stain.
The crow sees all that happens,
and all that happens not.
He stares as all society
Devolves slowly into rot.
I watch the crow as it sees us,
I see it sitting there.
I know it knows all I have done,
and I pray that it is fair.
I know the crow wants nothing here
But to see what’s left behind.
The crow cares not for life or death,
Only the remnants it will find.
The crow sees me,
and I see it,
I know why it is here.
It feels the same thing that we do,
Await the death-head’s ugly leer.