The Black Feather

Mortal thoughts and fear in a murder of crows, of
black wings that never will we seen
Deep in the forest, with no eye or camera to catch the sight
Brimming with dark tips that stab at the sky, at the trees, at each other
In a pack with young and old alike, with thoughts unknown to us
Of doubt, silent in the wood
Each with an end seen, fear and longing never known to man
Deliverance from pain
A dark feather where a comrade once perched
How will it end, for each black bird alone?
Do other beings in the world around
Think and feel as they do?
The dawn draws concern, to hunger and thirst
What to eat? What do drink? Where to go?
Who to avoid to last just one more day