THE CARRION CROW
There’s no bird so useful a scavenger
As the Carrion Crow, a true vulture;
It sweeps across savannahs and pastures,
Roving in quest of food where it hovers.
On motionless wings it soars in the sky
Performing its wonderful feats so high;
Like a child taken by its playful nerves,
It rises and falls in long lingered curves.
Amid the glow of silver lining,
This sharp-sighted bird discerns anything;
Like a leaf that lost its unwanted spirit,
It drops to earth to investigate it.
Though fouled and bespattered it seems to be,
This black bird is to itself so lovely;
Like a broken beauty born in a town,
In sad regrets it wears a dull black gown.
From nowhere, it drops to consume its fare,
Which, like sin, pollute, but soils not, the air.
When impelled by hunger during famine,
It pecks at nuts to keep it from starvin’.
As the Carrion Crow, a true vulture;
It sweeps across savannahs and pastures,
Roving in quest of food where it hovers.
On motionless wings it soars in the sky
Performing its wonderful feats so high;
Like a child taken by its playful nerves,
It rises and falls in long lingered curves.
Amid the glow of silver lining,
This sharp-sighted bird discerns anything;
Like a leaf that lost its unwanted spirit,
It drops to earth to investigate it.
Though fouled and bespattered it seems to be,
This black bird is to itself so lovely;
Like a broken beauty born in a town,
In sad regrets it wears a dull black gown.
From nowhere, it drops to consume its fare,
Which, like sin, pollute, but soils not, the air.
When impelled by hunger during famine,
It pecks at nuts to keep it from starvin’.
Copyright © Frank Ramtahal, 2011
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