Three dozen black apostrophes sit atop these skeletal scribbled trees
at a sudden rain-burst, parliament dispersed
wheeled, dropped, flapped, caw-cursed
beaks full of guttural, hoarse harsh verse.
The fire-glow and flame of the hedgerows along Northcott Lane
blaze against the greys of this drizzly October dimsy
stray sunrays illume autumn’s displays
the mid-blast explosions of hawthorn’s berries.
Black branch lightening, permanently striking
against a heavy-rain cloud sky
new moon rising, wryly smiling
mirrored in the misting brook, brim-high.
A lone crow idles through these damp mauve airs
that ring to the choirings of a crownful of starlings
their elegiac hymns
their passionate beseeching prayers.