Classic Poem

In the night
a little crow
whose wing was broken
lay on the ground
and cried out

Strigidae
the owl
protector of grain
heard
and glided
soundless
nearby to a low branch

Straight ahead he looked
like a man
engraved
as on an
ancient
measuring cup
or seated at
the knee
of Michelangelo's Night
waiting
motionless

erect
Not two weeks old
the crow slept

An hour passed
A feather stirred

Instantly the great
head swivelled
and the bird of prey
leaped,

spearing
and carried off the body
to a distant tree stump.

Again he waited
listening
The implacable beak
then grasped it
by the head
and gulped it down.
Three times
he swallowed,
spitting out
the crow bones,
fur and feathers.

Then the great bird
silent
on Egyptian tombs
blinked
preened
and hooted