It was a call like crows
But not those of crows
Even on their most talkative days
When whisked up by winds
When they chitter and churr
It was more musical than crows
Deeper tones balanced by middle notes
From behind the hedgerows
Beyond the browned ancient oaks
Low to the grey horizon
A stretched vee
Approximately formed
Unbalanced, but sharply led
Three, five, seven, nine in clear formation
With forty, fifty, sixty more
Lagging loosely in lines
Heading south
Warning of winter’s coming
Or dragging down
Its icy curtain?
.
CLP 01/12/2019
Voyage des Mots 