In Port Crow’s mist, where shadows lean,
The air is thick, the grass is green.
A twisted tree, with branches bare,
Holds whispers in the evening air.
The lamps are dim, the streets asleep,
The stones beneath hold secrets deep.
The raven calls from oaken bough,
Its voice a haunting, hollow vow.
Through alleys cold, the night unfurls,
A place untouched by light’s soft pearls.
The fog rolls in, a creeping shroud,
A ghostly breath, both soft and loud.
But if you walk where shadows play,
Where dusk becomes a smoky gray,
Beware the breeze, the watchful crow—
For Port Crow keeps what few may know.
Lethokuhle is a 17-year-old poet whose work explores themes of self-discovery, nature, and the delicate interplay between memory and emotion. They enjoy crafting verses that connect deeply with readers. When not writing, Lethokuhle spends time exploring literature from around the world.
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