Turned into the cawing of murders of crows.
Bright, purple irises sprung out of the ground,
Only to turn into dried out petals of death.
Young, thin blades of lime-green grass grew in clumps,
And were crowded by tall, sickly weeds.
The brightness of the sun’s strong rays
Were nothing compared to us,
The shadows of the leaning plants,
The shadows of the scurrying animals,
The shadows of one and all.
Even the little ants scuttling around the floor;
They have shadows also.
The beautiful, fluttering butterflies;
Their shadows are there too.
We are everywhere
Stalking corners of eyesights,
Following you wherever you go
In the hearts and souls,
In the wants and desires
Of the human race.