Crows
R. Moore
They wait for me,
Wrapped in thick, jet-black coats
of feathers
Their eyes, they look
Straight through me
See my darkest secrets
Know what I think.
But when I step outside,
They flee screaming
In their harsh piercing voices
Determined to hide from me
But they hold no secret
They don’t mean to scare
It’s not their fault
They’re the way they are.
