The pedestrians advert their eyes from her
bloodied, broken body.
Closing their ears to her cries.
Yet the crows mock her from their perch in the ally.
Chuckling under their breath,
they descend upon her.
Her shrieks evolve to screams.
Cutting off in her throat,
as the black feathered demons pick at her pale flesh.
Her blood warm on their sharp beaks,
drips to pools in the gutters.
For the pedestrian side steps the puddle as it grows.
Protecting their designer shoes.
Brushing the stench of her death of their satin coats.
The Keeper sits on his haunches.
Watching her soul slip away.
He pities her,
only he has truly seen,
truly known the tragedy
in the casualty.
Silently he and only he weeps,
for her lone soul;
meandering through the fog of after life.