Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in October 2012
Canny old crow
I hear his wings
Beating against the sky
I can't see –
Otherwise,
The Forest is silent;
Ancient trees
Shrouded in moss
Which falls in tatters
From moss thickened limbs
Murmuring ancient wisdom to themselves:
I look up
Into the distant canopy
Hearing the Raven calling –
My camera
Set at 28, as wide an angle as it will go
Can't take it all in:
Tree trunks as wide
As a Silver Ghost is long;
Trees …
Moss …
Raven
Rules …
Andrew Barham
