Seen in the woods
I saw a white raven, and they are rare
Sitting on a tree branch, it had blood on its chest
Of the sparrow, it had eaten.
I could have been mistaken perhaps it was
A cardinal sitting on a bough getting s rest from
The burden of rituals and be called your holiness.
It could have been a white dove wounded
By shrapnel flying over Syria.
It could also have been a white cloud drifting
Lazily across the blue sky, with spots on sunlight.
Whatever it was, it was none of my business.