The Poet

Black as night,
eclipsing my dawn,
she sits by my window,
cawing at my yawns,
clawing the glass,
gnawing the light,
staring at death,
with eerie delight;
To wake me up,
a eulogy she screams,
pulling me out,
from nightmarish dreams,
and I open my eyes,
to the blackest of crows,
and smile at her,
before she goes,
only to return,
another dawn,
with another eulogy;
This poet,
in my window.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar

Pen it... or aaa type it. u know what i mean.

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