1
Frowning whitecrow on the branch
Awaits the storm impendence.
Nothing can be closed as hatch,
Can't flee away from sentence.
Fighting with the rain attack
It's hurled aground like flivver.
Struggle pecks the head and back
No calm until the winner.
Thousand drops are flaks of height,
They bang the aim to harrow.
Eyes of crow are burning wild,
The road of war is narrow.
Ch:
Rise or fall, but never crawl,
The grip of weather's malign.
One against, with no complaints,
Strong wings of sable won't pine.
2
Caustic acid forms the moats,
A trice - and crow's surrounded.
Fed with water, "soldier" floats,
By nibbling waves enshrouded.
Moment of Requital lames,
Bird cannot jink from bier.
Loser knees but hardly tames,
'Cause insurrection's near.
Whitecrow
© Copyright: Дитрих Даркер, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116081606040
Свидетельство о публикации №116081606040
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