Late Raven Call


The days that say,

“Don’t let me go.”

Spring comes

and around here we wait

for the snow and ice

to fade

and reveal last year’s decay.


Longing for life to return,

birds first,

then animals coming down

from the high country.


the morning quiet

and the valley

flush with new growth.


The streams move.

Slowly thawing rivers run,

as our world awakes.

Watching the trees bud out,

soon the leaves

will soak the sun,



Heavy morning mists

hang in the valley.

Mountain call,

and rain fall

from the night before.


Sun filters in

and I hear a late raven call.

Falcon takes wing,

as something small

moves in the deadfall.


Morning comes,

like spring does,


so there’s no concern for time;

only days

that say,

“Don’t let me go.”



HG – 2021

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