Omen

The feline ever it crossing my path,
And rufous grey hounds in ugly bath,
And crows throughout in rough and hoarse cry,
Making the enthralling pulchritude all dry.
I know not what these omens are
For this mind doesn’t need for;
May be a despair’s sign it is, maybe a good luck.
But I dream that these signs
really turns out to be good.
Copyright: welkin siskin