Collected Poems 11


I looked askance at black birds
that sprang into flight
that early morning
from a field of green
as I walked past,
as if to show me what I lacked.

Was it envy I felt?

Then three of them alighted
on a branch I stood looking up at.
They sat there naughty,
cawing down their glee at me
while lurching rhythmically.

I turned and saw them fly
to a fence
where they, contented now,
stood planning whom to call on
at three
for crumpets, gossip and tea.
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