Raven, the memory

In my ill bed, I heard the cry
of the raven.
I flung open my eyes;
Mom used to say "when a raven cries someone dies."

Still feverish, I stared out the window.
So, I'm going to die? the thought frightened me;
a wink of death.

"Mom," I called. no response. unusual. 
I kicked the blanket, got out of the room,
and searched through the house, in vain. 

Mom used to chat with a village mom;
toward her house I ran;
the afternoon sun followed me.

Arriving at the house, I fell into 
Mom's arm, in the yard. 
"Let's go home," I said.
"You should be in bed."

"I'm scared."
"What happened?"
Embarrassed, I said no word.

That evening, Dad said 
"The oldest village man passed today.
Ninety-eight. Good age to leave."
Mom nodded.

Her hand on my forehead, Mom smiled.
"The fever is gone!"
I sighed.
What did it mean; crying at my window? 

©Byung A. Fallgren