Coda: Of crows, dragons, angels and swans

On the roof a cacophony loud enough

to wake the deadly, and me

Murderous damned crows

tap-dancing thunderous as dragons

They shimmy across the shingles

down to the eavestroughs where

they're sipping rain-water

and mountain-ash berries collected,

fermented to a fine natural exquisite wine

No wonder they're in no hurry to go

I raise the blind to squint them gone

but of course they have their own

flashy feathered abstract ideas about

timely leaving; they are oily black, spangling

ethereal black angels up on my roof

I lay back, my head aching from their sound,

and their beauty

Still, I wish them gone

Imagine folding each one carefully

into a perfect black origami swan

But instead of sending them aloft or aground

I know I'd have them shelved, quieted at last.

S.E.Ingraham©