The Crow

December 9, 2010
A looming, sneaking creature
That squawks by day and night
It will creep into your bedroom
And surely give you haunting fright

It will stare at you
With its eyes of onyx black
Circling your secluded soul
Seeing all that your conscious lacks

It steals your things
And flies far away
Leaving barely a frail trace
It escapes to the day

It flees to the trees
To join its flock of gloom
Taking some twinkling keys
That it stole from the room

It lets out a shrill sound
That is so often found
But it hurts every ones ears
As it continues to hound

It follows its friends
To an abandoned place
But it will soon return again
Because a crow never forgets a face

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