What is their sinister purpose?
In dark orthodox garb the Crows
perch on a level line of branches
above the honey-stoned field wall.
Black backs turned to the sun,
they warm themselves after
the heavy night rains that
drummed on leaves, parted
grass like wet hair and
puddled the earth.
Now the sun dries the
birds on their perches,
the mice in the ditch.
The Crows briefly shake their
black cloaks, confess their sins –
or some of them – are given
absolution by alder and hawthorn,
fly off again to do evil things.