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No part of this poetry should be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author, Joe DiMino, who retains all rights: contact


"The Raven" (by Joe DiMino)

The raven had a broken wing…
An act of God I now believe
Landed him
On my doorstep;

He did not ring a bell of course—
Yet somehow a sense of ringing
Told me as well
To open the door (My impulse unknown);
I saw truly a stately bird
Un-startled un-flown—

Across the saddle he stepped…

Having posture of a sultan,
Upright as a king—
No words to describe such dismay
I said not a thing—

Did my best to sling him—
Tape and gauze
No complaint—
Not a hint of discomfort
Nor faint—a seasoned pilot
Seemed he; and I the lowly man
Loyal and attendant—

A table box, his temporary shelter,
I could not keep him in—
We played for seeds
I let him win
My joy in the giving;
We played for strokes
He let me win
A game of sharing;

He healed and flew away

And to this day
Every raven
Or owl or hawk—
Great eagle seen often only aloft;
Any whatnot with wings
To lift it higher apart
Above the woods
Many heads above me—
Stalls in my air
Lets me climb aboard
For gliding and soaring—

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