A white raven sits on a post
Staring straight up into the sky.
It’s giving direction to the world at large
Without the ability to fly.
In one claw it carries a burden
A foolproof way to lose.
The other carries an iron rod
That gives you the ability to choose.
It sits and stares at an angry sky
Looking for some revenge.
It won’t be here, and it won’t be now
Nobody can find Stonehenge.
A lake appears ahead of the raven
That has now become a female.
Full of life, and zest for success
There are thorns in this tale.
She seeks what she doesn’t know
Finds it all within her grasp.
In one hand she carries the iron rod
The other, an asp.
Scents seem to linger a little too long
In haste we wish them away.
Exception always follows the rule
It’s the only thing that will stay.