The Crow and the Parson

Old black crow

Feet clenched around a wire

Bell clangs hopelessly

In the church tower.

Young parson squints

Toward the setting red sun

Dry dust swirls aimlessly

Down deserted Main Street.

Maybe God will come

Parson opens church doors

Stares at the empty pews

Old Black crow squawks.

Hopes dashed against

Thirty pieces of silver

Bloody from the crucifixion

Old Time Religion sighs.

Parson lights a candle

Flame against pulpit oak

Locks the big front doors

“In Remembrance of Me.”

Smoke billows from the tower

Parson walks down the street

Old crows flies in circles

The town gathers to watch.

God watched

From the tavern next door.

2011 © Dayvid Graybill