Perched high above the world,
Rests the poet bird.
A lost species,
Of the lonesome raven family.
Who stands among the branches,
Of the bald willow tree.

He weeps,
For lovers in London.
Split by chance,
Which took one to the heavens,
And left the other alone on the Earth.
But when his eyes dry,
Again he will fly.
With somber stories,
Tucked between his tear stained beak.