Sunday, 30 September 2012

The Stolen Tongue of a Scarecrow

Two ravens. Sisters, or mother and daughter?
Both smoking. Both were looking at me,
eyeing me up and down as if I was a shiny
thing that they might like to swoop upon:
carry me off to their nest.

Ravens?  Certainly.
One had a cawing, croaking
voice tainted with the smoking
blackness of her beak.
But the other, older sister or mother speaks
with the stolen tongue of a scarecrow.



  1. Aye, the Twa Corbies are like old soldiers. They never die, only grow more and more disturbing to our dreams. Not to mention our waking.

    (At dawn today I disturbed a large crow in the midst of consuming a choice lump of discarded bread from someone's trash. It had a companion. Both regarded me with something between fury and disdain, before flapping off trailing commentary in just the tone you have evoked here.)

    PS. Jonathan, maybe a typo here in last line? - "the stolen the..." -- ?

  2. Yes, they can be outrageous. I once put my sandwich wrapper in a bin. Only for a crow to drag it out again. I scared it away - then sat on the bench to eat my lunch. The darn thing came straight back again and repeated the whole process. My ambition to be a scarecrow thwarted.

    Thanks for reading. And for spotting the typo.



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