Let the crow's caw draw

you in and call you home towards 

the hearth fire waiting 

The old fighter sways

on shaky legs from the weight 

of myth and legend

Mirrored sky shattered

by the wake of a passing 

ship on its way north 

Strum an old tune as 

the sun slowly sinks and keep 

your travails at bay 

 The eagles are all 

gone, but vultures aplenty

circle overhead

 

Mark my words with a 

marker, a sharpie, to strike 

through, outline, color 

Immature poets

imitate while mature ones 

steal, so which am I?