Dark Feathers

If ever there was a great tale to be told

This one is my favorite, it never gets old.

It tells of a maiden, in a far away land

With no suitors about who might ask for her hand.

She would sit by her window, with a garden below,

And softly sing melodies to the breezes that blow.

But one day in the Spring, as she sang to the sky,

She saw the dark shadow of a crow on the fly.

The crow was intrigued by the notes that he heard

And he flew to her sill, though he spoke not a word.

The young girl was startled, well most anyone would,

Yet she thought, at the time, that this omen was good.

So she sat there quite calmly and waited to see

If the crow had some message, and what it might be.

The crow cocked his head and he opened his beak

And the girl breathed a gasp in the hopes he might speak

Yet no words came forth, but it wasn’t too long

Before the crow mimicked the maiden’s sad song.

Her mind filled with wonderment, she stared at the crow

For she sang her own songs, so how could the bird know?

The crow turned about then leapt into the sky

With the maid left to question what had happened and why.

She arose the next day and went through her routine

But hastened to reach window’s viewed garden scene.

She sang a new song that no one had yet heard

In hopes that the tune might attract the dark bird.

And so it transpired that the crow did come back

As it flew to the sill, in its beak a small sack.

He flew to her chair, put the sack in her hands

Then left before ten grains of hourglass sands.

She opened the sack which the crow had put down

And discovered within a gold, tiny jeweled crown.

No bigger than thimble, not fit for her head

So she slipped the small crown on her finger, instead.

Explosions of feelings now coursed through her mind

With new thoughts of tomorrow and what she might find.

Next day at her window, she sang once again

And the crow came once more to sing maiden’s refrain.

But this time the crow left a heart shaped glass bead,

Its color, dark red, like a deep wound might bleed.

She hung the small heart on a fine-linked gold chain

Where it circled her neck but then caused a slight pain

For the bead had some magic that spread through her skin

And sought out the soul from her heart deep within.

Away flew the crow, once again to the skies

As the maiden was left all alone with her sighs.

Her body felt different; she lay down for the night,

A tingling sensation which she chose not to fight.

As the morning sun ushered in day’s glowing dawn

She returned to her window, like a doe to its fawn.

The crow reappeared, just like each day before

But this time his gift hinted what was in store.

He laid in her hand a small sharp-bladed knife

And somehow she knew she must take her own life

The crow flew to her shoulder and gave a small peck

At a spot near her heart, below her soft neck

And she grabbed the dirk firmly, pulled it deep in her chest

As she fell to the floor in her form’s final rest.

It was only a moment, but the maid did not die

For she now had dark feathers and wings which could fly.

She jumped to the window where her crow watched and waited

Then they flew off together, her soul finally sated.

A brand new beginning, and now everyone knows

How a once lonely maid became queen of the crows.

By Eye, Mind and Pen

From: United States

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