Fierce-proud crow-piper am I
On Prospero’s good-wind, miller days,
Born of winter raven-burn,
Murder’s elegant professor,
Confessor to fictions.
Fierce-proud crow-piper am I
On Prospero’s good-wind, miller days,
Born of winter raven-burn,
Murder’s elegant professor,
Confessor to fictions.
Their long,
Slim, flower-queue bodies
Jostled by late-fall flakes of
Light mid-day snow
Hazel catkins shiver,
Dance, nudge one another,
Seeming to enjoy the attention:
Slender-spire plumes of
Spring’s candle-fire.
Immediately beyond the small paned window
The fall is innocent, robbed of threat –
Simple, gentle, deceitful horizontal descent.
Further away, between the
Game-cover wood and the
Hedge cuttings brash pile
It more capricious,
Openly slanted and vicious.
While I’m asleep
Some things will happen,
Some things won’t.
10/3/2013
photo source: www.hollybank-woods.hampshire.org.uk
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