Mobbed

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

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CLP 17/11/2019

Published by

Christopher Perry

Liberté, Equalité, Humanité