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Black is the raven, black is the crow; Feathers shining, they cruise the sky And come to rest on the sparkling snow And we almost never ask why. Brown deer running, dark eyes aglow; Fawns, grown slick and large, still shy; Cling to the safety of mother doe; And we almost never ask why. Some children playing, with lots to eat; Others just trying not to die Or living alone on a perilous street And we almost never ask why. We see stars in the black of night. Were we there, we could see Earth cry. Humans destroying everything in sight, And we almost never ask why. Now it is Christmas Eve, a time of peace, Is it really the day to ask why? But we're all one and we cannot cease Or the raven will no longer fly. by Betsy Erickson © December 2003 |
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