Caw, Caw, Caw, Caw,
they go.
Waking us up to a new dawn:
Caw, Caw, Caw, Caw
- they go
from early morning to late noon.
Sitting on wires over the kerbs
like a gathering of surly beggars,
crowing crows are constant company.
What their caws presage though are a mystery.
(from The Migrant - notes of a newcomer (February 1997- July 1998))
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I'm sure for a sum of money you could find someone who claims to be able to decipher premonitions from crows..Another great crow poem.