The day my mother died was the saddest of my life.
My father was depressed, for he'd just lost his wife.
We found her on the floor, laying cold and still.
I don't know what had happened. She wasn't even ill!
I took a picnic basket and sat beneath a tree.
It was something we would do-just for her and me.
Out of the foggy veil glided down a crow.
And with it came emotions of anger, fear, and sorrow.
It landed on my knee and looked me in the eye.
It shook it's inky feathers and picked up a piece of rye.
It ate the entire meal I had taken time to pack.
And then it flew away, but I know the crow'd be back.
So the next morning, I climbed up to the hill.
There was the bird, shadowy and still.
It knew what was coming, so as I unpacked the meal,
it stayed around and watched-it's thief hands ready to steal.
As the bird ate, it's beak flying through fruit and game,
I pondered what to call it and decided Misery was his name.
Misery ate and ate, but as he approached the last roll
I yelled, "Shoo thief! With eyes like lumps of coal!"
Misery looked at me, his eyes widened in dismay.
But when I flicked my wrist, he got up and flew away.
Misery still visits me after all these years.
And his midnight coat brings on a sea of tears.
But now I have learned that all you have to say
is, "I'm stronger than you, Misery. So leave and fly away."
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