Black crows, circling the sky
Beneath dark clouds, alone they fly
Coconut trees, with lush green blades
Swaying leaves, and trunks with plaids
Gravel, marked with tire tracks and stones
Footsteps strange and familiar it owns
Along the road, a light turns on
A swing set, a porch seat, a life is born
And here sits the poet, watching with awe
Looking with her pen, writing what she saw
~Moniba.