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Grandma kept a crow named Herkimer,
It brought her bits of mirrored glass, brass buttons and once, a three dollar gold piece.

But I will not write a poem about crows,
not the four and twenty in a pie,
not the ones of Van Gogh who pecked
the face of sunflowers.

Not even the ones years ago in Charleston
who overtook the Pecan trees before daylight  when our bodies still fit like origami on your pale Victorian divan.

The ones round here now are arrogant
they stretch on the phone wire,
steal snatches of conversation,
translate them into  crow speak.

On my gate,  a pair of tail feathers,
a warning: Leave this place while
you still can. This is no life,
to stay here year after year
and never make it into a poem.

A good poem about a failed relationship...i liked esp. the divan image.

We have a lot of crows that come into our garden. They are very intelligent creatures. I've heard about them bringing gifts (small stones etc) to people who feed them, like at the beginning of your poem.


Love the poem Ken, but I would question why you have 2 very long lines that stand out from the rest. You do have some great lines.


Eira

Thank you guys.