This poem originated with a session of Pilates! I was doing a workout in my living room and happened to glance out the window. There was a crow perched up in a tree branch and the first line just kind of popped into my head. I wrote the rest out in a notebook after I finished!

“Black-feathered fiend perched up in the tree,

Turn your hungry eyes away from me.

You’ll find me poor company and even worst feast.

Fill gullet elsewhere foul carrion beast.

This wound? Just a cut in need of some mending.

This snow-frosted grove’s not the place of my ending.

I have years long yet left ‘til I feed the fire,

Resting in glory atop my warrior’s pyre.

Seek out instead the flesh of my foes,

Battered to death by my blade and my blows.

I left a score of them slain - cold in my wake.

Waiting in silence for your appetite’s take.

See how my grip still holds firm to my spear?

Could my fingers wrap tight yet if death were true near?

Pay no heed now to the slur of my words…

I have strength yet… I’ll rise… Don’t be absurd…”

The crow swooped down low when at last silence fell,

And watched another moment to ensure doom’s final knell.

Then when all fates were certain it ate its grim fill.

Sometimes it takes time – catching death up with the kill.