The Poet Priestess

I awoke to a hundred crows perched upon the trees
Surrounding the boundaries of my property
Their cries harsh and hypnotic,
Falling over one another with the urge to speak.
A rhythm emerged, like clocks slowly syncing over time
Then silence sneaked in
Three lonely cries
And all did rise
Black upon the lightening sky
With drum beat of pounding wings
Leaving me windswept and reeling
Bereft in the quiet dawn

(c)2015 Romany Rivers