Crow and me the same plight:

 

 

Crow and me  the same plight:

 

In crow’s beak  not a bone

Not a  sea smelling  fish or  dead crumb,

Nor a piece of grass green, in the field

Walkers’ bed of aura soon be fed,

 

In cow’s graze maze amazing,

In due course of time, dry and dead

bunch of straw  bundled in a corner;

shift  and shift in the cow’s tent,

 

master’s delightful duty.

Am I digressing, certainly not.

My poem, composed some

Twenty years  ago, retrieved

 

from my ancient trunk idle,

now  to  the write a  facelift ,

this poem, wind’s sway, now

away from the gentle  touch of crow,

 

my efforts  to trace it now elsewhere;

my growing apprehension ,

some spicy pudding neatly

stuffed, flying, flying far off,

 

in a far off trolley, idle stay.

I am running  after it,

Crow’s flight to unknown

In its steered path , still a wonder.

 

My long forgotten poem

My recently retrieved poem

Seeks an asylum

Elsewhere, its own cove.