This poem is about a lonely old crow sits in a swaying old tree mourning the loss of his friend the previous day.
Black feathered soldier sways upon the old lightening tree, but this creature is near shadow of his departed comrade who died, under the setting sun alone.
Bright shiny plumes are now dulled feathered quills brittle like the branches of the tree that Zeus struck from above, a shrill of grief, an emotion we do not think the birds know echoes across the fields.
A carrion in flight, a comrade fallen in the daily battle of nature, sway on old crow sway on, sway on the dead tree for we do not expect you to know the passing of life as we do. Or do they ?.
