Portent Poem by Bryan Harford

Four black crows,
Standing fast,
Barring my way.
Racking my brains
For some
Ted Hughes epiphany,
Or semi-rhyming couplets.
But deeper meanings surely?
Uncertain,
Was it some
Subliminal portent?
Or was it what it was?
Four black crows
Sporting some attitudes
And staring me down.
Russia in the Ukraine,
Coincidence perhaps.
Four black crows,
Sentinel-like,
Barring my way, rough
Weather closing in,
Driving slowly past,
Parting and allowing me
On my way.