Poems/Blackbird's

Someone’s earring on the road, maybe old or plated gold, still the apple of the eyes of ravens watching from the sky.

Like the words of someone’s song, that I quote from time to time, something of a raven’s penchant for the shiny shells and chimes.

Not a moment to admire, as the haste is catching up, work the bones and every muscle, like the man behind the bustle.

Lone Wolf1990 04:33, May 9, 2012 (UTC)