| Butler Pennsylvania 29
Nine Eleven Quartet Day Seventeen Late one night in infamous September the Court House clock failed to strike the hour and seconds passed before a raven glided down onto the Square where I, still awaiting the sound, watched it circle then alight upon a chilled granite slab, to face me tilting its head as if listening before lifting off for the tower turret whence it had come. High above me it stood now between two thin columns robed in black cawing its cryptic verdict on doers and deed: What has been Is what has had to be. |