Winter Crows
...for Ruby
yesterday, I heard winter crows,
lined up like ink spots on bare branches,
coarse calls to gray winter skies,
clever eyes that held secrets,
of things we should know,
but do not.
last night, I heard an owl call her name,
echoed in the hollow,
rolling up pale frosted hills,
swirled into the snowflakes,
and last summer's sighs,
fading upward into clear winter's night.
today, I heard deep lowing,
of shaggy highland cattle near,
slow rambles to their sunset,
and greener pastures far, far away,
with laughing eyes and long horned wisdom,
one last look back, then turned away.
Copyright ©
Andrew Foreman
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