THIRTEEN RAVENS
Eleven everyday ravens flock the field once a week
maybe more, one less than the year before.
Eleven ordinary ravens blow in bleakly from the North
and the killdeer hide their children
and the sheep are unshaken
as they pull at the blades.
Eleven typical black ravens brush in blackly from above
and they speak in low voices
as they look for scraps and bugs
and the crows hush away.
But every now and then one raven
flies in loud, not alone
one raven and his raven-mate,
never late.
Two ravens in the field cry in harsh un-hushed tones
and the crows scream their names
and the sheep come in.
Two ravens take their time
Look for lambs, eat their eyes
pull the wool, make them blind
break their skin.
Two ravens fly in fast
watch the ground, look for hens
take their eggs, eat their heads
leave their legs in the trough.
Eleven ravens talk of raven things
while slowly winging off
© Darcy Stumbaugh, December 26, 2001
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