Above the crowning wood the raven flock
wheeled in winds it seemed the birds stirred too -
the air's cauldron lined with their raucous cries -
but courtship was the purpose of their meet,
pairing here and there with gentle 'qua-qua' croons:
if one bent wings and rigid dived from height
the other followed close as might mid trees.
All the while wind roared out through the birch wood.
We watched it labor up the steep hillside:
it passed us rawly by on the long ridge
bidding us, 'Do every button up, quick!'
then sped off, ruffling the long, green pasture
and over Cheshire plain spread out below.
When we were down and walking up the lane,
we heard the rusty hinges of the raven cries
from far a hill as if they creaked ajar
dark doors of days, of seasons, years...
through which the March winds blew, redoubling now,
and through us too
till we gained the bubble
of the car.
