Eurydice's Crow

on lusty scrape of wind, she soars to settle, hushed,   

too dense with lilt of pine and sun to rise anew 

her satin feathers rest yet fluoresce air, unrushed, 

with languid fragrant breath of slow perfume

tainted wild and wrestled from wind and shadowed sky

and froth of flagrant tempests yet to bloom

she’s harbinger, soul-singer, soothsayer, spy our mothers’ muse shining through stygian gloom.

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Thanks for writing!