Friday, February 24, 2012
HOT CROSS CROWS
Half-eaten bun, ahead of Easter,
Spins towards sleeping lawn;
A left-over; a disappointment;
Another fool's promise of gold.
Black hag caws and swoops;
Seizes sustenance, sweet.
Heavy; the much maligned struggles
To return once more to Mount Olympus.
One foot holds fast the prize,
As aerial quivers under the extra weight
Of two black begging uncles;
Hoping for a crumb or two of the spoils.
Judging human expects bird to share
Something that he no longer relishes.
Imagine the hypocrisy of his disappointment
When bird flies away from marauders...... beak-filled!
Maureen Walsh - February 2012
Ciao for now!