Ruffled Coat of Quills Ink'd

The darkness flits
with it's ruffled coat of quills ink'd,
and with it's beak patterned in splits
that does not shine, nor does it glint.

For he is an upstart crow
that cares not for appearance,
but only for the death he does bestow
on those he sees that have no coherence.

So the shine of the summer sun gives way
to the sully of the rustle of autumn's leaves.
Soon the bite of winter will be upon him
and the light fades and the mouse mother heaves.

But don't fret dear dandelion,
for the cruel clouds are not yet over the field.
and the upstart crow is not yet flying,
and the raven is yet to reap it's yield.