ten thousand ravens came knocking knocking like thieves on my door cold, i stared back like dead tree bark glued to these old breaking floors the maid she brought down an old casket then she lined it with mama's old quilt while roses were drawn back like shotguns draped softly here round my cold hips (And the raven said) you You should fly, dear For you You will die here strawberry pie in the oven sits waiting for strangers to dream as they lie on the back porch and whisper while thunderstorms rattle the screens I somehow can't seem to calm down now where are the angels in white? the man down the street he is howling and I have gone pale with the night © 2018 serena matthews