Gordale’s Raven King Poem by C Richard Miles

On Gordale’s lofty, craggy heights
Which, riven, grasp heavens in their maw
The royal raven claimed his rights
In croaking, harsh, imperious caw.

In regal pomp he sat, surveyed
And scanned his limestone-pillared hall
Anthracite plumage bright displayed
Yet still a speck on cliff so tall.

Then, stretching wide his gloss-black wings,
He plunged, his feathered flight to forge
And, emulating mighty kings,
He viewed the empire of his gorge.

But, as he soared towards the sun,
Subduing subjects ’neath crowned head,
A poacher raised his mortal gun
And shot the cackling monarch dead.

So now, in Gordale’s gaping cleft,
Hushed, rugged rocks are loath to ring
Harsh echoes, since they are bereft
Of avian monarch, raven king.