And the thumpin' crows come down with a caw!

And the thumpin’ crows come down with a  caw!
 In swoops of cold laughter
They spare sweep t’rough the  combe, spuddling
Their wings tacking a-long,
Circling  the urn cheel,
At dimmet, with dark fingers stretched,

Across a near houdry sky.
Around the yummers;
On a near gold zin splashed y’avail,
Peppered  with bloody thunderbolt’s,
The worrit  cheel is standin’  As still as a galliment.
Th mickeld urn  waits…
Then, a’fer a long pause,
With spies  for eyes,
He laces  the long cripple,
Breakin’ the old codger,
That retreats with a vile hizz;
As the crows slowly curl away,
‘Wards  the  deef tallet.
That is slow restin’ in the light
Of the vady Zin.

© ADH 2015