The Raven’s Words to her Young
A sharp eye is the first of wisdom. Circle and watch.
When armies stir, the roads are crowded.
Night by night, the moon grows fatter.
All that ripens feeds on death.
A rapid wing is pride’s darling. Soar high.
When columns move, the dust rises.
The raven’s stronghold is the rocks.
When armies meet, the smoke rises.
Trees root themselves in mould. Perch and wait.
It’s time to feed when the flies settle.
Flesh is yielding, gristle tough.
A strong beak is the chief of virtue.
A proud gait is the badge of power.
The moon’s belly swells to roundness.
Shout mockery down the wind.
A bright eye is the best of morsels. The raven’s beak pecks at the moon.
All ripeness turns to decay.
The moon shrinks nightly in the raven’s time.
The frost’s rigour brings fine eating.
A strong wing is the gale’s toy.
Fix darkness with one dark eye.
Published in The Coffee House, Issue Nine, Spring 2003
© Gillian Spraggs, 2003, 2006
page added to site on 25 February, 2006 |
last modified 24 November, 2006