Hopes Demise

Calling, the early morning Raven
 makes his presence known.
He greats the morning sun with
 blackened wings widespread.
He makes his perch atop a spire.     
Lethargic be not this fowl,
 thus pains of hunger should be your fetish.
The Crows, nine in all, lighted upon a Stoney perch
 in the hedgerows aside the church.
The Raven is wise, cunning and strong.  
He knows that nine is Hells calling card.
In the field, all is quiet.  In the field,
a Hair since dawn is paralyzed with fear.  
Suddenly a stir, no more than a blade of grass.
The hair has been spotted.  There is no escape.
The Hair has lost all hope.  He jumps the garden rope.
Spire and perch empty quite fast.
Thus “Hopes Demise”.