by Nick Gisburne
At dusk, the raven strikes to steal her eyes
He pulls and plucks and carries them away
From all the earth, the seven seas and skies
What ransom does he order her to pay?
If she will simply teach him how to sing
For this, the curse of blindness he will end
He offers her a tiny golden ring
A sign, to seal a contract, crudely penned
She teaches him a slow, exquisite song
A deep and rolling ballad, filled with woe
A year has passed. His voice is rich and strong
He tiptoes to the door, as if to go
With shocking speed she breaks the raven’s head
He lied, of course. Her eyes, like him, are dead
