Crow...

A gloomy black light

In the graveyard’s guardian’s eye.

Singing in a rough voice

The fact there is no choice.

And staring with envious heart,

From the top of a grave tore apart,

The back swallow flying away

Drinking the yellow Sun’s ray.

Your feathers are black, too,

But there is no Spring in what you do:

You take away our souls in the night…

That’s the secret hidden in your sight.