CROWS
©1971 LApp

Into the sunset the clouds are turning red
the shadows growing long
And through the predark still a breeze carries by
a distant and lonely song.
And in that waning light
an image seems to appear:
Black as coal or rain against that sky
the creature draws so near.
Where have all the crows gone?
Why is this one so out of range?
It seems so strange
that one should be so all alone without a home.

Flying sunward on a course of his own,
his search will never cease.
And he knows he knows those things that he wants
and he'll fly 'til they are in his reach.
No other crows can help him
This is why he's flying all alone.
He's never known
how it's not to be free like you and me.