The men with the black sticks
had arrived under the tree.
Up there, in the nest,
the babies did chirp.
Quickly, quickly they chirped
with fear of the men with
the long, black sticks.
Two weeks before, they'd
cracked their eggs,
and now, too soon perhaps,
they had to go away and fly.
The men were coming close,
hundreds, then thousands
of black sticks towards them.
Terrified, in panic, the babies
got out of their nest.
They flapped their wings
and, all at once, they jumped.
In front of the surprised gaze
of the green-dressed men,
the babies didn't fall.
Instead,
the baby crows flew.
May 20
May 20, 2026 at 6:40 AM UTC
The men with the black sticks
had arrived under the tree.
Up there, in the nest,
the babies did chirp.
Quickly, quickly they chirped
with fear of the men with
the long, black sticks.
Two weeks before, they'd
cracked their eggs,
and now, too soon perhaps,
they had to go away and fly.
The men were coming close,
hundreds, then thousands
of black sticks towards them.
Terrified, in panic, the babies
got out of their nest.
They flapped their wings
and, all at once, they jumped.
In front of the surprised gaze
of the green-dressed men,
the babies didn't fall.
Instead,
the baby crows flew.
Sorry for the delay, I've been quite busy these days. Here you have another poem about the Raven—without Him! I'm quite excited about this. All poems in this series have #theravenflew in case 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/5309650/the-raven-flew-7
