Even if I not be the raven in the fleet,
Still I flap my wings with every blow of breeze.
Even if not there be army of sailors clamoring my flight,
Still I caw and frisk, an apostrophe for a few sight.
Words are gifts, acuity is but none
I hear not what you mean, but a fallacious intone
Still I unroll at your door, the riddle and rhyme
Forget it or chant like a hymn.
Melody is a captivated nature in time,
I hear heartbeats in the waves of brine.
Seven notes encompasses all images of closed eye,
Experience the hells nigh or heavens high.
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