Crows are among the most intelligent and mysterious birds, often associated with mysticism and omens. However, beyond folklore, they are simply agile and adaptable creatures, demonstrating remarkable abilities for learning and problem-solving. In this collection of poems, we will attempt to see the world through the eyes of these winged observers, capturing their grace, intelligence, and perhaps a little melancholy.
Their brilliant plumage, piercing cry, and habit of collecting shiny objects have always captivated human attention. These poems attempt to convey the multifaceted image of the raven, from its role in nature to its symbolic significance in culture.
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A night visitor on a branch
On an old branch, in the night's gloom, sits a raven guard, not sleeping at all. He looks down upon the world, slightly gloomy, and seems ready to take it all back. His eyes are two glowing embers, holding the wisdom of centuries and a quiet sadness. He sees dreams, of which they are silent, and hears the wind's distant veil. He awaits dawn, a new day, to soar again into the black sky. And carry with him a little melancholy, and keep the secrets of the world in his heart.
Black silhouette in the field
In the boundless fields, where the ears of grain are golden, a black raven silhouette circles. It searches for food, and the wind welcomes it, and the sun's ray caresses its light. It is like a shadow gliding through the grass, invisible, but its gaze is felt. It knows all the secrets in the blue, and hears the whisper of ancient, quiet dates. It is a symbol of will, strength, and longing, a free spirit soaring in the heavens. And in its cry one can hear verses, of eternal life, in the fields, in the meadows.
Raven's treasure
In an ancient hollow, hidden from view, the Crow hid her quiet treasure. It wasn't gold, nor a diamond, but a few sparkling pebbles she'd seen in the garden. She found them in the river, by the bridge, in the plowed field, and in the sand. And she guards them, like beauty, in her secluded corner. She doesn't need riches or honor, she values the sparkle and joy of silence. And in this treasure, a whole world lives, in a crow's tale, understandable only to her.
Conversation with the Raven
I met a raven in the depths of the forest. He perched on my shoulder, unafraid. And as if he understood all my sins, he looked at me reproachfully, quietly grumbling. I told him about my life, about joys, sorrows, and dreams. He listened silently, wise as an old man, and nodded his head as he spoke. He gave me advice, simple and wise, not to waste time on empty dreams. And live now, and believe in miracles, and see beauty in every moon.
Autumn sparrow
The autumn wind swirls the leaves, and a crow flies overhead. Its farewell cry awakens the soul, and whispers a tale of bygone days. In its eyes is the sadness of fading, and melancholy for a summer long gone. But it contains strength and charm, and faith that all will be given. It flies toward new days, free as the wind in the sky. And it will carry with it memories of warm days and sunbeams.
Crow Dance
In the crimson sky, at sunset, the crows perform their magical dance. The flock swirls like a shadow of fire, and in this dance lies an eternal romance. They soar up and fly down, intertwining their wings as they turn. Their cries echo in the silence, and dissolve into the heavenly realms. They dance of love and passion, of freedom and their dreams. And in this dance lies eternal happiness, and a reflection of earthly mysteries.
Black Prophet
On an old tower, in the gloomy silence, a crow sits, like a black prophet. She will predict storms and thunderstorms, and the secrets of the world that has guarded centuries. Her prophecies are like the whisper of the wind, unclear, but full of melancholy. She sees the future, without a secret, and knows the value of each of our hands. Do not anger the black prophet; his words are like a sharp, burning knife. He knows the truth, bitter and stern, and will not spare you if you are not good.
Crow's Dream
A crow sleeps on a poplar branch, dreaming of a sky as blue as flax. And in this dream, she flies, flies, to distant, unknown lands. She dreams of a forest, green and dense, where birds sing and animals live. And in this dream, she is happy, at peace, and all worries instantly pass her by. But the dream passes, and the crow again, awakens in her own reality. And looks down at the world, and sees blood, and understands that she will not be.
Shiny trophies
In a crow's nest, hidden in the foliage, lie glittering trophies, like a dream. Candy wrappers, buttons, shards of glass in the blue, and everything the crow has seen—beauty. She collects them from all over the area, and guards them like the most precious treasure. And in this hoard lies her little wisdom, and a reflection of her childish whim. She loves glitter and bright colors, and everything that catches her eye. And in this hoard—her life flies by, in a crow's fairy tale, like a meteor shower.
Winter crow
In a winter forest, under snow and ice, sits a crow, black as night. She searches for food, in a cold delirium, and hopes that help will soon arrive. Her wings are covered with frost, and her paws are frozen from the cold. But within her there is strength, and ecstasy, and faith that all will be well. She will survive this winter, and greet spring with joy in her eyes. And once again she will sing her beloved, crow's song, in the rays of the sun.
Crow's cry in the night
In the stillness of the night, when everyone is asleep, a crow's cry rings out, mournful. It's like a call from distant lands, and within it resounds a primordial question. What does the crow mourn in the night? Lost love, longing? Or that life is shorter, far away than it would like? Its cry carries across the earth, awakening souls sleeping in the silence. And in this cry lies eternal peace, and a reflection of our souls.