Stories in a box,
Spells in each sentence.
Heroes who need adventure,
Villains who need repentance.

Tales from long ago,
Myths from the past.
Trouble in far off future,
When computers rule is vast.

People who've never been,
Worlds you wish would happen.
So many tales to be told,
Your minds about to snappen.

Why do people hate you,
A bad omen they have made you
And to death they have associated you.

Is it because carrion is your diet?
Well people eat balut and haggis with utmost delight.

Is it because of your black colour?
Well,isn't black worn to emphasize glamour?

Is it because your voice?
They think it is just creepy noise
You always gave a croaking cry
But did anyone ,because of it die?

Well let me tell you one thing
Who ever thinks that, is a superstitious being
I for one am fascinated by your mystery
So excuse me while I go and look up your history

My child is neither broken nor stupid in any way,
What you take for anger is their way to vent frustration
At that which escapes them on any given day.

My child is my baby I don't care what you think or say,
Having kind words spoken instead of a scream or shout.
It,s better for there understanding than words not shouted
Out, but explained for them to so they understand what
The question, explanation is all about.

My child may be not your child but never call them broken
Or stupid, know that my child will learn, but in a different
Way from which you were taught.

Sometimes you don't have to speak
I can understand without a squeak
When we lay side by side
Your breath in time with mine
When we go out together
And see something queer
We only have to swap looks with each other
So don't say you're okay
When I know you're angry
Don't be afraid to make me cry
I'm more afraid of times
When our hearts don’t align