The Tale of The Raven and The Cardinal

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Robin feather's in bright red flames
are black as night when they are tamed
by the blazing brazen plumage on a crafty cardinals brow
A flittering of velvet feathers
turns ice and snow to desert's weather
a tree may light on fire when one sits upon a bough.

And the greatest of these fantastic creatures
with the sun's great envy-colored features
was a bright and happy birdie by name of Gin
he'd flash the red beneath his wings
and all birds talked of colored things
the red was even said to also rest upon his skin

But envy spurs the worst of words
with human souls within such birds
as the crafty craven raven watched abroad
black eyes squinting, grey beak glinting
envy stirring with heart a burning
in a blackbird colored of cooled volcanic sod.

Sparked by a bleak bitter heart that yearns
is how the greatest of everything falls and burns
The rich young raven made the other birds a deal
the berry bushes were his private stash,
but if a bird would simply turn their back
to dear old Gin, they may eat within his fields.

The new day comes when the birdies sing
And Gin got up and stretched his wings
he looked around to see the birds react.
but to the great young Gin's dismay
he was not greeted by smiles and praise
but rather a patch of brightly colored backs.

This occurrence at first was tossed aside
for Gin was a Cardinal, and he had his pride.
So he lived his life the way a normal bird would do.
But the backs stayed turned, and the weeks moved by
And Gin's bright color began to die
and he moved from a red to far more purple hue.

He tried to converse, he'd strongly sing
repeatedly flapping his now dulled down wings
but the backs stayed turned, and the birdies bellies stayed full.
And that craven old raven was subtly smirking
on the pole near the fields where his shadow was shirking
as he watched Gin's graces gradually grow far more dull.

In his sorrow, Gin flew off and land on a wire.
Far up above, yet close enough to the bleak blackbird's attire
to hear him say a thing or two beneath those beady eyes
"Gin, I know exactly why they turn their backs to you,
they loved your bright red colors, but now your hue is blue"
Gin weakly turned his face to his far from flamboyant guise.

Gin swayed in the wind upon the perch he had
feeling strangely far more sick than sad,
although sadness itself was certainly more than there.
"It's a lesson that prettiest of birdies must learn
the brightest of colors hurt more when they burn.
In other words, what do you have now that you are not fare?"

Gin's vision blurred as the words hit his ears
blocked by exhaustion and heartbroken tears.
But in the pools that were forming a dizzying blackness grew too.
The raven watched as Gin sorrowfully swayed,
chirp in a ghastly and heart wrenching way
then finally fell through the air in a tangle of blue.

His landing created a crass crunching sound
As his once favored plumage slammed into the ground
Gin gagged as his head slowly tried to lift the wings from the land.
His feathers broke like cheap frayed lace
and when Gin saw the ravens grotesque grinning face
His head gave up and fell back down into the sand.

The beak gently fell into an open gawk.
The raven looked down like a harrowing hawk
as Gin's teary eyes gently rolled to the back of his head.
The blackbird's joy gleamed clear and bright
the birds and buzzards would eat in GIN'S fields tonight,
for the setting crimson sun was shining bright
on the crumpled blue form lying dead.