A crow came calling yesterday. I woke up yesterday morning to find an unlikely visitor perched upon the curtain rod, nervous and clearly out of its comfort zone. It has been ages since I last saw a crow, and it gave me a start to see the black poor jittery creature all bundled up in the corner. It was clearly disoriented and looking for a way to get off the room. It even got a couple of its feathers clipped in its attempt to find an escape route. After 10 to 20 minutes of fumbling and chasing around, my brother finally got hold of it, took it to the terrace, and set it free. Quite the opposite of Ted Hughes' crow, but nevertheless, I was reminded of his poem. Love this poem.
Crow Goes Hunting
Crow
Decided to try words.
He imagined some words for the job, a lovely pack-
Clear-eyed, resounding, well-trained,
With strong teeth.
You could not find a better bred lot.
He pointed out the hare and away went the words
Resounding.
Crow was Crow without fail, but what is a hare?
It converted itself to a concrete bunker.
The words circled protesting, resounding.
Crow turned the words into bombs-they blasted the bunker.
The bits of bunker flew up-a flock of starlings.
Crow turned the words into shotguns, they shot down the starlings.
The falling starlings turned to a cloudburst.
Crow turned the words into a reservoir, collecting the water.
The water turned into an earthquake, swallowing the reservoir.
The earthquake turned into a hare and leaped for the hill
Having eaten Crow's words.
Crow gazed after the bounding hare
Speechless with admiration.
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