This drab, dull day
Its natural sounds subdued by drizzle
Are cut through by her sharp cry above
Kehwee! Kehwee!
To her mate unseen, but somewhere near
Stirred up, crows lift from dark hearts of oaks
Gather as a loose assembled mob
A flight of five, or six, or more
Rough circle spreading, all alert
Seeking out the closing threat
Her superior gliding flight now disturbed
Rattling croaks at her wings and tail
She adjusts direction with a flicker
Stretches primaries to the furthest tips
And across the tree-marked hedgerows she slips
Sharply scanning the long-since mown
Damp pastures that spiral below
.
CLP 17/11/2019
