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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