It is Winter, I suppose,
But as the weather is, who knows?
A scattering murder of crows
Wings away as daylight goes.
Caught in these woods at sundown
Cawing echoes, surrounding sound,
Marking a spot in memory
As the crows escape over the chimney.
Ebony wings go forth, calling,
It is backward, into the past falling
My mind flys to times appalling
But I try to busy be, Love installing.
Prompt: Think of something relating to Winter and create work informing your audience.
I am thankful:
1. Work for the day is over.
2. I have drinks.
3. My phone.
4. The dogs.
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© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan