The branches – heavy under cobalt sky –
Have carried ravens in the misty morn
But now the snow has chased them off. Forlorn
I stand where I have never seen them fly.
The ravens won’t be back till it is light,
They’ll haunt me in my sleep, in dreams they tear
My hopes up, every bird another fear,
Their feathers sizzling in my room all night.
There is a point where time began to be,
And under these old trees I understand
That all we know will fade away and end:
The tree, the ravens, cobalt skies and we.