Among The Crows There Is No Contentment

Among the crows there is no contentment
harsh words and guttural calls against the rushed rustle of the breeze
way high up in the sheltered canopy of autumn's now drying leaves
in the stand of beech at Casement's farm

When the look-out with the cocking neck shrieked ‘ rise'
there was no quieting of the narking chatter
but a scattered clatter of flap and caw caw
they rise wheeling off at every angle
laying to the lift of wind

But on the ground with folded wings none is more quietly assured
picking their step along the turned north Antrim clay
peck peck into the stubble of the top field's last cut of hay
the gang spread out in form exactly as they had adduced
in that raucous recall of millennia's wisdom
endlessly debated in the parliament of the roost

by Barney Rooney

Comments (1)

Barney, such an interesting write...10+++