Ravens Call Ravens fly and call from high, Across the mystical fields of green, Backdrop curtain of heavens serene, Rays of golden sunshine sigh. The labyrinth to the north is seen, Bucolic pastures that spread in time, Picture perfect, the impressionist mind, Abandon his thoughts, in fields of dream. Night shadows falling across the planes, Creating a misshapen grotesquerie; Hunched silence, then creeps past the trees, Until the morning clouds fill with rains. Eastward, the scorching sun lies. once more, to singe the buds away A chalice is raised, to greet the day The Champaign unfurls before your eyes. E. Bretton Copyright Material April 2004