Hetalia Crow. 26.
Exactly a year has passed
Since the nightmares that tortured her sleep
And now as she walks
A child to which she talks
She remembers the horror and screams
She walks in the city
The city of dreams
Faces turn with pity
While she thinks of the past
She holds a small bundle
A child, quite young
The crowds are in a hustle
To get where they're going
But she can wait
Time slows down
And she sees a small shop
She opens the door
The bell starts to pop
She looks through the jewelry
And finds some earrings
And she thinks, for the child
Whose skin is softer than minx
As she broaches the desk
Where she pays for the gift
The man sitting there
Looks up, his wings in a fit
His wings are black
As black as a bear
Covered with feathers, touch them don't dare
But they're wrapped in chains
Shackles and binds
The woman must refrain
From freeing him tonight
As she turns away
She sees in his eyes
The souls of many
Who perished on that night.

A/N:
GUESS WHO'S BACK, BACK AGAIN
Mondays, people. Mondays.
Have a nice day, life, whatever you wanna call it.
Sincerely,
BlackpeltIsABoss