Читать книгу Sing, Lost Soul - Karl Coppock - Страница 10

How came you, little beast, to be so feared, reviled?

Do death and darkness truly harken to your call?

Are you their foreguide or their footman?

Prophet of the endless night?

Or is it color—Is black so obvious?

So ominous? So clear a copy of the dying light?

Are we so simple to surmise the equation of a raven

to the night?

Or is there truth in superstitions that would so catechize

our ready-to-be frightened minds

to gasp suspiciously

at ebon, fluttered flight?