The Crow Flies North

I met sweet Geraldine on a lonely park bench

A small silhouette hopelessly trapped inside

Quiet as a desolate rock was the wench

Who allowed her shadow to be her guide

Her hair was thick unlike her spirit

Her dwindling hope relying on a thread

I knew she'd unfold if I would only hear it

So my shoulder I gave to rest her head

Two beaten eyes grazed a faraway shoreline

Just as the familiar salty drops lapped her cheeks

Sweet Geraldine's flesh once so incarnadine

Yet her blue heart hadn't seen the sun in weeks

She proceeded to speak, her voice merely a breeze

The lips from which it escaped were a-quiver

When she told of how life no longer came with ease

Oh, how it shattered me to see her frightened shiver

Her knuckles were white as she held on

Trying to be still as her world quaked

But serenity, she said, is a blessing long gone

Despite her woe, she never let herself break

Instead she cried, "Tell me I'll be alright

Take my hand, please light the corridor

I've never known such formidable plight

God served me something I didn't order."

I told the girl it was a God-given test she'd pass

As I fought the biting urge to cry

My sweet Geraldine was strong for a young lass

She was too afraid to open her wings and fly

So I pulled her ever so close to me

And whispered, "My dear little girl, don't you fear

Crash into me if ever you should flee

But remember that the crow can only fly north from here."