The Seven-Sided Crow

I call him brother—
The ancestors come to Earth.
But who is the crow?

Thief! Prometheus!
Stealing fire for himself;
Protecting his flame.

His wings are knives’ blades,
Each feather a tapered point
Cutting through the sky.

The softness he hides:
His beak nestled in his chest,
His eyes close—content.

From the tree he falls
Into the fire below,
Stained by the charcoal.

Lurking in the air,
Scavenging for his next meal,
He spies a stray chip…

Black as night—death
He’s darkness personified;
Evil, an omen.

Raelee Lancaster

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