The Crow Who Fell In Love With Emma

The Crow Who Fell In Love With Emma

A crow watched Emma in the late evening garden,

black wings folded like a secret kept too long.

She spoke to the roses with a lonely voice,

and the bird leaned closer from the silent branch.

Night gathered slowly around her shoulders,

a velvet hush over stone and soil.

The crow felt something fierce inside his chest,

a wild beating that was not hunger.

He followed Emma through the fading hours,

from iron gate to candle lit room.

Each step she took lit a strange fire in him,

a dark devotion feathered and trembling.

Emma never knew the watcher above her,

never heard the quiet rustle of wings.

Yet the crow guarded her sleep like a vow,

a lover born of shadow and storm.

Storm rain battered the garden one midnight,

Emma cried beneath a broken sky.

The crow cried too from the dripping oak,

a broken call that echoed her sorrow.

Love is not always warm and gentle,

sometimes it wears a black coat of night.

The crow stayed near until the last dawn,

Emma was the only light he knew.

The world moved on and forgot the bird,

but he never forgot the girl in the roses.

Even in death his feathers whispered

Emma, Emma, Emma Save me my love

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