“ Old Crows ” ~ fly by in rows ~

 

Alas old crows,

Ever so black

Fly by in rows,

Tho rather old

For winter flights,

Must suffer cold

And failing sight,

Be on spent wings

Bide dying light

Heading for spring

To end their plight,

That they might rest

Thru dead of night!

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“ Earth Space ” ~ in a deadly race ~

 

Pending we find

Before our space

Evaporates,

And spent

Ourselves in time

At carnage rate,

Ignorant of plight

To desolate

What we have left

In a deadly race,

Too soon reduced

To depleted space,

Of carved out caves,

We surely face

A dire need to stave,

Forces waiting hungrily

Like lowly knaves,

Who’ll greedily engage,

Our precious space,

Albeit by then our grave!