Morning Nap

 "their wings rag out with age"
could be a poem in itself a line
ringing with profound renown
 
I have to look it up again to
spell it right for our little time
where no one knows anymore
 
my wings fold for a morning
nap what else are shoulder
blades made to cut but time
 
a crow in the corner of my
eye refers to memories of
honeyed pleasure climes
 
flies away beyond the 
momentary frame green
with the rain so it be
 
the words give the wit you
give the falling full length
on the sofa of your youth