Sarephim's World Of Magick

Crow

Can a poet find ought but grace divine,
To break the bread and sip the wine,
When poetry is by faith inspired,
One can see surely Angel and poet conspired,

Each word carefully plucked from sacred vine,
As Angelic fingertips dance down every line,
Each word delving ever deeper inside,
Revealing to the poet that which they hide,

Sometimes to the places they don�t want to look,
Like the subtle musings of an inquisitive Rook,
Or the memory of a crow that watches from the shy,
As outside the magpie cries why, why, Why,

But why would a magpie want to know,
What goes on in the mind of a crow,
Does he have something to hide,
If he looks down deep inside,

This messenger of Divine Grace,
That carefully puts the omens in their place,
To be observed by watchful eye,
Of those that sit and read the sky,

A simple crow wiser than the wisest sage,
The Divine instructor of every mage,
Teacher of ancient arcane knowledge,
To those that live upon the edge,

Of the abyss of life and death,
Who hold dear every sacred breath,
To those who search and seek,
For the truth of the bold and the truth of the meek,

Ah my beloved friend how I miss the days we wandered,
When upon God�s mysteries we pondered,
And you taught me to speak your strange tongue,
When of God�s glories you sung,

The days when we wandered free and wild,
When I was but a golden haired child,
With a leap of faith we taught each other to fly,
It was to you I would run and cry,

I remember the day we me, I was playing in the wood,
With Richard Marshal as Robin Hood,
I must have been six or seven,
The day you fluttered down from Heaven,

I remember that day so well,
Like being under a magical spell,
We had followed a mysterious spectre�s trail,
Through ancient ruins like a phantom grail,

How strange that ghost looked to childish eye,
We had to follow him; we had to know why,
Why he wore strange clothes and wandered ruins in an ancient wood,
He wanted to show me something, I understood,

And there you were amid ruins of a felled Elm tree,
You were only a baby as helpless as me,
Ah little Crow I loved you so much,
We both needed a mothers loving touch,
But then we were there for each other,
Safe in the arms of our Earth Mother,
And all the adventures together we saw,
When with excitement we would crow and caw,

Both watched over by our Guardian Angel,
Who saved us both when your tree fell,
Now on his ghostly shoulder you sit,
As you both regale me with your wit,

And lead me on adventuring still,
Through distant forest and ancient hill,
Where I hear bardic crows recounting your tale,
Enchanting nestlings in every valley and dale,

At night hatchlings rest peacefully in every nest,
Snuggled safely to their mothers feathered breast,
Knowing that if by chance they should fall,
An Angel will come running to their call,

Such simple knowledge every hatchling knows,
That golden haired Angels watch over crows,
And so it is for every child,
Who loves to run free and wild,

Who know knows they are never truly alone,
No matter how far and wide the roam,
That there is always an Angel deep in the night,
That will see them safely back to the light,

Who utters not sarcasm or cutting thought,
Who knows that cruelty is not a sport,
To God�s children as they grow,
Angels are wise these things they know,

Always my Angel has walked by my side,
Who knows all the joy, pain and secrets I hide,
When sorrow and delight of childhood memories flow,
Of days adventuring with my friend the Crow,

Many years have passed to bring me here,
Many times I have come face to face with fear,
Times of violence, times of pain,
When I knew I would be lucky to see dawn again,

Times I have looked death squarely in the eye,
Ready to kiss this beautiful world goodbye,
To step through the gate and take the Angel by the hand,
To walk together in Gods sacred land,

What a strange life I have led,
Halfway between the land of the living and realm of the dead,
In a world of pixies, fairies and elves,
I oft wonder how others perceive themselves,

Those that cannot perceive beyond the veil,
Do they see their lives as pale,
I cannot help but find the mundane boring,
Enough to put me to sleep and start me snoring,

How do they live without the call of the quest,
Don�t they know that is when life is at its best,
When magic is glowing through every vein,
Instantly forgotten every heartache or pain,

Caused by some transient illusion,
In the mundane world of confusion,
All is forgotten in the call of the Grail,
That makes the mundane world so pale,

Sometimes I get so tired of this mortal plane,
With all its lies and all its pain,
On this lonely path I walk,
But then I remember the wisdom crow�s talk,

And remember how enchanted my life has been,
With all the miraculous sights I�ve seen,
That I am blessed beyond all comprehension,
In this very peculiar dimension.

Copyright �2002 Sarah Earnshaw