Two crows are ragged

Black and flapping

Irritable at the air

And in the tree

Which is a mass of fingers

Against a grey, truculent sky


One son has gone, willingly, to school

While the other lingers here recalcitrant

Not prone to make the journey out to college

That pebble on the way to adulthood

The two of them etching a pattern on this day


And I in my mighty ego

Sit robed with tea and pen

And pontificate in warmth. At leisure

As the crows and the boys have gone

To leave me in mystery

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