Winter Berries, the Crow

Red clusters of the seeds of dream;
silent screams of time
gone too soon, hanging from
the bear branches; soft snow's 
empathy; lone crow ponders,

if this beauty is what death looks like.
He listens to the spirits of the season gone,
in the nature, in the human voices that
always gives him shiver,
in the drifting snow from the pine trees,
too profound to chew and swallow.
He pecks the little berry; surprised 
by the firm grip on the community of its world;
tilt his head, gaze more,

feels the knot in his heart,
with sudden yearning, he takes off. 


©Byung A. Fallgren