GHOSTS OF CROWS

 

 

Ghosts of crows they float, high inside my dreams

They talk of coiled trees, green with rounded leaves

They tell me what I see

I see black and shiny wings

I see roots through pallid clouds

I see simple sorts of things

 

The sky is neutral grey, so life stands out on top

The past is hazed in ash, backwards turns the clock

I see sounds and smells from youth; I hear squeaking in my ear

I see my Grandmother’s ring, as she holds me in her chair

She died when I was young

But her voice still softly sings

Ghosts of crows they float, high inside my dreams

 

There is a tree that twists and grows, like a wrinkle in my hand

I see a child skipping years, and suddenly he’s a man

I see a veil that lifts for me, so lightly by my side

I see my Grandfather’s smile, as the sun shines on my bride

My Grandfather is gone

But his grin still brightly beams

Ghosts of crows they float, high inside my dreams

 

There are twigs that circle round, and love that is reflected

The slumber carries gifts, that are simply unexpected

What an image means to some, is to others something more

A memory told on wood, can show all that I adore

So I close my eyes to sleep

And wait for what it brings

 

Ghosts of crows they float, high inside my dreams

 

 

 

 

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