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.



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