The Purple Volume of Ravenous History
Through Winter tears,
Two ravens planted in my open acre,
The secrets of this world.
But when Spring came,
No flowers rose into their sunlight fame,
And wasted felt their toil.
Now Summers here,
And though I know not what the ravens sowed,
I do know how, and why—
For talon marks and peckish scars do write
Upon this ground of mine
A feathered script of sage calligraphy:
The Purple Volume of
Ravenous History, which when I read
Does caw
The lessons of their years.