Crows Call

Yesterday the crow spilled it's mouth open wide
writhing and squealing
Squawking at the sunrise.
Screaming of secrets once whispered at night.
Screeching and twisting about its plight.
Darkness surrounded its body with care
the moon looking on... seeming somehow aware
What is my secret?
The crow spoke with a shout
What is my secret?
Try and figure it out...

(c) T. Y. Lightbourne