The ravens perch on posts with beaks agape,
They cluck and gurgle as I comb the dirt.
It's laughter surely at this naked ape
Who finds their lunch, but when can laughter hurt?
My trailing harrow strafes the strawpile house,
A flash of onyx beak and underwing.
The laughter stops to lift the scatter mouse
As high its squeak will ever sing.
Friday, November 5, 2010
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