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Dark as your shiny wings on
heaven high,
As over the cold northlands you fly,
An' black..your beady eyed inquiry
O' my intent....
There's none like you in skies above,
No warbling thrush nor soft downed dove
Can match the challenge
O' your demanding stare....
In my Pictland hame you are the deil,
Oft' cursed by lowly farming chiel,
Marauder o' the sky
Uncompromising trickster...
Corbie o' the Perthshire field,
Who plunders ripened harvest yield
Thus, suffers murder from the rain
O' lethal leadshot...
Your broken body hangs upon
The cruel barbed fence, and as the dawn
Heralds another day,
Your cawin' kin mourn your end...
But even though you've brought ill fame
Upon yourself....Are you to blame
for the omnivorous nature
o' your carrion kind ?...
I mind the tymes ere I did gae
Into the fields 'fore break o' day
An when first rays o' sun appeared,
Black Raven clouds ascended...
O' feathered reiver high above
I hate ye not..indeed I love
your swirling swooping antics,
You selkie o' the sky..
On Haida totem, perched so regal,
Your stony gaze outstares the eagle...
You are the master
o' this Pacific shore...
Once.. in a far and distant place
When first I looked upon your face....
You fed from my small child hand... |
