Written by Blue-Eyed Devil
I walked along through fields of blood
To harvest conflict’s crops.
For bread and wine are just too fine;
I must steal from its corpse.
But swiftly through the darkened clouds
A crow set down to feast.
With caw of delight, it ceased its flight
And fed on dead men’s meat.
I screamed and flailed, to no avail:
“These men were brave and strong!
And yet you feast upon their eyes.
Can you not see that is wrong?”
It turned its orbs to rest on mine
And opened beaked jaws
“How am I so wrong, my friend,
When your hands clutch their swords?
Your skin is pale, my feathers black
But our souls are much the same.
So ‘fore you judge my feast, my friend,
To thine self-judgements aim.”
And with a sneer and final caw,
The crow took to the sky.
And left me in that field of blood
To steal from death, or die.