Crows Poem by Gwilym Williams

It's Fall
and from the north
come waves of carrion crows,
jet black
and glossy
flapping in for the Winter -
all set to crow-crowd
the Zentral Friedhof
and the Tiergarten.

There's a modest wringing of wings
and some peering from high windows
by hooded brothers
who like to make a little fuss
on observing newcomers
marching over their ground
their stone grey beaks
relentlessly turning soggy leaves
in misty parks and gardens
poking around
in the Vienna fogs
prodding for this and that.