A lone crow settles
on the arched limb
of my silver birch.
He scans the sky,
then swoops to feast
on scraps and seeds.
I watch him sidestep
along the garden table,
peck at a crust
rise into the dusk
leaving behind
a single black feather.
I watch him roost
in the Scots Pine,
shelter for the night
from the numbing cold
of this bleak winter’s day.
Beautifully descibed, deeply moving last verse
ReplyDeleteRachel
Rach,
ReplyDeleteThanks, I saw the crow last week and wrote a few lines, the morning of the beautiful sunrise. I just found the poem today and decided to try to finish it. Glad you like it. It is unusual to see a crow on its own in these parts and the pesky Magpies come in groups, frighten off every bird out there. xx
Hi Máire,
ReplyDeleteA reading day for me today and what a fine poem here, one I can certainly relate to at the moment. Skilled imagery at work
regards Michael
Michael,
ReplyDeleteThank you for your comments, appreciate your visit. Máire x