Winter Writings: Day 31

There are a thousand black nights
in your glossy feathers;
your eyes are a galaxy of dark stars
Your haughty strut through the grass
reflects your royal bearing,
even when your feathers droop with rain.
You are legend to many tribes
and ride the shoulders of witches each Halloween
and are quoted often, "nevermore".
Yet now you sit humbly by my feeder
while songbirds eat their fill,
unaware they are in the presence of celebrity.
Your dark modesty belies your trickster zen,
my little Buddha raven.