The Ravens Of Ecclesbourne Poem by GORDON BUTCHERS

The dark shadow of a large corvus
A mere crow,
No'a bird far larger far more supreme,
The harbinger of doom so they say
As if cast from some dark dream.

The raven'
Mystical bird of days of yore,
Glides over me to find a resting place on the cliff
Just beyond the rugged shore.
The silence only broken by their occasional deep croak
A voice far deeper than of any crow that I have heard before.

Like some dark spirit
Free from the confines of the historical tower,
Their dark shadows only eclipsed
By the black clouds of a passing shower.

I stand and watch in fascination
Of their arial acrobatics high above,
Their dark shadows cross and re cross
As if dancing in mutual love.

The stately raven
A bird of legend and steeped in folklore,
Casts a shadow over the grey winter cliffs
A place where the raven reigns supreme and free forever more.