"A winter mourning"

The larking of the crows, Dawn: The dark days 

The tree's  splitting shadow, obscure,  silent 

 Whips of black, crack the dull morning daze 

 The breaking light crimson, almost violent 

 

 The cold air, sharp as a knife 

 Reeds stand  indifferent, fixed in frost 

 Awaiting judgment,  awaiting the scythe 

 The scene: in color warm, in essence lost.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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