Four formidable ravens, all in a row,
Prancing and cawing on the ground.
Plucking the feathers off a dead crow,
God what a horrid sound.
Four angry wraiths, hounding the dead,
Dust flying off the desert floor.
Lost in the death dance with beaks of red,
Black stygian coats covered with gore.
Four red eyed demons, in a dance macabre,
Spectres from some nameless hell.
Grinning at the disappearing shapeless glob,
That into their company, unluckily, fell.
3/20/12 Alton Texas
I believe Eric's comment (below) is right-on; this is a perfect metaphor for such. And a durn-good poem to boot!
could just as easy be the rich plucking at the bodies of the poor! great poem!
Sounds like a Parliamentary gathering! ! - seriously though, excellent write, very descriptive, can visualize the scene.
Gory but brilliant description of the scavengers just having a meal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
All in the name of survival. Artfully written and garishly described. Great work.