The White-Feathered Crow

A Poem by Rubick

As fear an' love doth both bestow,
The gift of one's cold heart, arow..
Of leafy Eve and an eye's consent,
Through this and that t'was meant to send,
A word of thereto in the now of time;
A word of love grown down aloft.
Aside be cast, that flesh of I.
A mud o' morass: subside it by,
Deep inner light, that fools deny.
Up there ahead..that core of Sigh..
Methinks again.. tis hardly nigh!
Though thought me twice, no wonder why.
That palmy trace, a worthy's hide.
That he and she of "any" would not,
Dare to break these doors so shut!
Tis tried, tis told, a glory dot.
A seal of thus, so, an' but!
Sweetened by I love you ' lot...
Circumspecting why and what,
As Eagles go round round a hut
Sounding waves of eek like: "see!
That's what beams tween you an' me
The S in "simple," P in "Plain,"
Round the plain S hides a stain.
Vague though clear: if, say; it seems.
N, O, P from ABC.
So dost I, heed and judge,
Afore ye mind, a falsy plot;
That birds do shriek, and springs be blood:
Them thither drink, tis not 'is cut..
Deep down the path of lofty low,
There it abides, the white-feathered crow.