Carrion | A Poem


Cold crow,

black crow

sits in the tree.

I’m not afraid of him,

he’s not afraid of me.


He flaps and

he watches

with dark beady eye.

He knows things about me

as I stumble by.


Bold crow,

black crow

feeds on death.

He knows it won’t be long

till I draw my last breath.



he waited,

while the action in the field

overwhelmed me.

Thus my fate was sealed.


Cold crow,

black crow

cares not for human strife.

Our woes and battles

are just the stuff of life.


His voice is hoarse,

his cry sounds

triumphant intent.

I look back with regret

and sorrowful lament.


Bold crow,

black crow,

my soul will be renewed.

For I go now to meet my maker,

my flesh will be your food.


10 Comments on “Carrion | A Poem

    • Thanks Éilis! Its funny, I wanted to write about the crow colony in the church opposite my house but instead I got tbis vision of a dying man on a battlefield keeping a wary eye on a crow in a tree. Its a very simple poem, but thats appropriate; a dying man would not have the inclination to compose something complex and flowery, I imagine!


    • Thanks Mishka, and thanks for tweeting it! I just realised that I tweeted it about 20 times today… every time I posted it on a social media site, it got posted to my twitter account… how annoying!


      • I know what you mean! I sometimes forget all my accounts are linked, and what I post one place gets instantly posted another 😀

        Really great poem though, so wouldn’t worry about it getting posted places!


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