Beware of the meat cutter,
The glint carved into his eyes.
He sees three.
Isn't that odd?
We travel in pairs.
The sentinel shits on his head.
Birds in a pie obsessed the meat cutter. So much so, he ignored the lack of pairings. The sentinel, the bird missing from the pairings, became indignant by the carvers ignorance and lack of respect for his intelligence. The physical act that followed with all it's flowing features was to plant a seed of growing (crowing) appreciation of the crow in the carver's mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A two-breath narrative that intrigues from the outset, but culminates quite unexpectedly with a sudden detour from vaguely threatening to genuinely humorous. Delightfully accomplished, Doug.