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U3A Writing: The Raven

Vera Sanderson’s poem pays tribute to a much-maligned bird.

Crook’d winged crow, perched on a winter’s tree,
Clothed black and grey like Shakepeare’s Richard Three,
Always when you heard my morning call,
You would hop along the wall,
Stop and listen, flap and stare and stand,
Then swoop down onto my outstretched hand.
Bright-eyed, gentle as a turtle dove,
To me you gave your trust and love.
I recall the day I brought you home,
Limp and wounded from a sniper’s stone.
Despised, feared crow, killed near and far,
Yet to me a friend and familiar.
Fed and watered, warmed and bathed and bound,
Soon hopping, strutting, flapping ’cross the ground.
Healed again, once more you start to fly
High across the world’s wide, wondrous sky
Jealous minds with hearts as hard as stone
Found you pecking on the ground alone.
Shot or poisoned, lifeless now you lie
On the stream bed – fluttered there to die.
What perverse mind found pleasure to destroy?
Your raven beauty brought such simple joy.


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