04-06-2016, 10:56 AM
As I was coming home one night from Kent
I saw a dozen grackles in a field
and stopped to ponder what this vision meant.
For though the night was clear, the grass unbent
I thought, perhaps that something was concealed
as I was coming home one night from Kent.
The moon was bright, the crisp air had no scent,
I left the safety of the road then kneeled
and stopped to ponder what this vision meant.
A murder, I was sure, the body rent
and left here naked, broken, blood congealed
as I was coming home. One night, from Kent
my mind reeled, my heart struggled with lament
as I approached, then tripped, then wildly wheeled
and stopped. To ponder what this vision meant
the grackles took to flight and their ascent
showed nothing there and nothing was revealed
as I was coming home one night from Kent
and stopped to ponder what this vision meant.
https://www.google.com/search?q=painting+grackles&safe=off&rlz=1CDGOYI_enUS657US657&hl=en-US&prmd=ivsn&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiBtdHIwvjLAhVFRiYKHT2XB_0Q_AUIBygB&biw=375&bih=591&dpr=2#imgrc=0oFmV3vFPA7yHM%3A