Just finished this small painting Tuesday.
As the artist sat and pondered,
what to draw as his mind wandered,
came a thought so soft and fleeting,
were those wings that he heard beating?
Darker than a tell tale heart,
the artist- he began to start,
scratching, sweeping, blending madly,
wild-eyed, with chamois handy.
The backboard he was ever rapping,
dare I say he was tap, tap, tapping?
What then appeared was almost weird,
a bird so dark that it was feared.
Was that a raven dark and dreary?
A meanacing bird that makes one leary?
Would this be Poe's Raven evermore?
Nope. It's a crow, and nothing more.
Poem by Lisa B. from Wetcanvas.com