by Will F. Mayo

When the sun never seems to rise,
and the night never seems to end,
and the crows gather by the dozen
at the dawn.
There for the feasting, and the hunger
for all things dark.
Then it is that an aching in the heart
will turn into a yearning for all things.
Then begins the journey.
There where the scarecrow
meets the neverending road.
Footsteps sound loudly in the dark.