Counting Crows Poem by Mark Pollins
Counting Crows
Jumping, sliding along a blue rail,
The crow seems at home next to the half-eaten somethings
On plates, in the open-air restaurant.
Another one, cheekier than the first, lands
On one of the white plates, pecks, attacks a piece of dry bread.
The loud resonating tune the four crows make –
A celebration of crumb and dried something, perhaps –
Causes me to feel at home, at ease with them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 9:48:52 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Crows celebrating stray bread crumbs.At least they are happy keeping from earthly possessions like branded fresh bread crumbs.