The ultimate freedom 
is flight above cover of night. 
I glide to provide 
a blanket of darker shade 
to the itsy-bitsy 
crawlers trying to hide 
from the stomp 
of a crusader's sabaton. 
I am unclean vermin, 
the faith-filled bishops rage, 
 
while I barely flap 
elongated fingers 
like needles amidst skin 
wings woven by nature 
allowing me to weave 
a witchy umbrella. 
 
Night-veiled omen, 
bad luck for a man, 
I see what he wants 
darkness to conceal. 
I out his sins kept secret 
at the confessional. 
One man's ears 
and he claims all is forgiven. 
 
No. 
Let all the animal kingdom 
perceive his transgressions 
that chain him 
to his chainmail, 
to his own shit, 
trampled in soil, 
glued to ground 
 
as I glide on the gusts of nor'easters 
and add my excrement to his Crown.