Under the spreading chestnut tree,
the babies found Him.
He was hiding, after He had fled,
under the spreading chestnut tree.
And when they met,
and were together,
even the Raven did nervously chirp,
for He didn't know
what He would do
to escape the men
with the long, black sticks.
Alas, they heard the steps,
the dreadful drum
that sounds at an execution.
For two weeks now,
He had escaped them,
one week had the babies hidden,
and their leader
—or such he seemed to be—,
angry, wouldn't let them
escape even once more.
"STOP!", he yells.
They stop.
"AIM!"
They aim.
"FIRE!"
They fire,
and in that precise moment,
the bullets flew.
May 25
May 25, 2026 at 10:29 AM UTC
Under the spreading chestnut tree,
the babies found Him.
He was hiding, after He had fled,
under the spreading chestnut tree.
And when they met,
and were together,
even the Raven did nervously chirp,
for He didn't know
what He would do
to escape the men
with the long, black sticks.
Alas, they heard the steps,
the dreadful drum
that sounds at an execution.
For two weeks now,
He had escaped them,
one week had the babies hidden,
and their leader
—or such he seemed to be—,
angry, wouldn't let them
escape even once more.
"STOP!", he yells.
They stop.
"AIM!"
They aim.
"FIRE!"
They fire,
and in that precise moment,
the bullets flew.
I think the idea of the series isn't likely to shift back to its original meaning, at least not soon—I'm too engaged with this story about the men with the long, black sticks.
All of the other poems in the series are tagged with #theravenflew if you want to check them out.
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Copyright: Shattentraumer, 2026. Licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/). Original: https://hellopoetry.com/poems/5312374/the-raven-flew-8
