a poem by Philipp Neumann

I asked a dear friend
My dear, would you like to play?
The answer was silent
It seemed like, it didn’t swing his way.
And the days pass
And we still didn’t play,
Although it might
Never come, that day.
I asked once,
I asked twice,
But unfortunately for me,
I can ask a lot of times
As the answer won’t change,
Quite the opposite,
It will always stay the same.
It is neither his fault,
Nor is it mine,
To be honest though,
It is because said friend
was actually a crow