The lonesome crow hovers solemnly over the still frigid snow, beckoned by the warmth of a fire kindled low. He perches himself amid the heat not taking notice of the company acquired in the next seat. Timid in disposition he asks for his companion’s name, only to be greeted with silence and the crackling of the flame. Ignorant to his identity he sighs and try’s to recall a memory of a time when his belly was less empty and he never walked the line between suffering and sorrow a time when happiness undoubtedly illuminated tomorrow . Through a crooked smile he utters to his companion that he has not had sustenance for a long while and that this winter has been nothing less than trial. Silence, the crow moves to and fro lost in thought and hunger pains that continue to grow. His unacquainted friend proclaims that my name is worm and id like to affirm that death is sweet. Perplexed by what he said crow says that
“it is something that id rather cheat, saving that time for when we rightfully meet.” Why would you stay when you have hurt for so long? Because though I struggle faith has never done me wrong. So stay in the dark shrouded in black, for when the winter leaves my hunger will turn its back!