The WingmanA Poem by Mark--a term known to all families of pilots; the comrade who flies slightly below and behind you, protecting you form unseen harm--THE WINGMAN The ebon jackdaw flew down and sat Upon a sign, atop a tree Whereon was writ, in languages three “Of Jews, I Am The KING”; just that. Feathers not preening, head looked not ‘round, Its caws and cackles quite o’erthrown By guttural gasp and gentle moan, By the blood dripping onto the ground. The scoffers rude at His feet stood, While beyond His comrades wept, Then with final groan these words escaped: “It is finished,” then He slept. ‘pon hearing that, the ‘daw took His wing, As Jesus’ spirit skyward leapt… Mark Teague © 2011 MarkAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorMarkLas Vegas, NVAboutWriting, for me, has always been the friend who brought out the best in me, and who would never argue with me, except when necessary to point out my many obvious inconsistancies. Writing and.. more..Writing
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