A Solo Crow Cries

 

There's so much to do,
But the waving plants beckon,
And the cool fresh wind.

 

It's almost noon now;
The sun is bright and subdued--
Autumn paradox.

 

 Lush bush has turned brown;
But look--there are vibrant leaves--
Still, the green survives. 

Lawn is neatly trimmed--
The children must be inside;
Hens peck near the swing.

Lying on its side,
Weary ladder is broken;
Waiting for garbage.

A solo crow cries,
Again and again he calls;
At last he's answered.

 

Shadows paint the rock
And sculpt it with dark fingers,
Ignoring hardness.

I look for my friend,
Realizing that he's not there. 

(Where could he have gone?)