Above the firewood cut and split and gathered,
floating, lifted by the breeze,
appeared a raven and a buzzard.
I didn't know there was a nest nearby
and wondered why they flew so close,
tip to tip,
almost hand in hand,
held in still companionship,
drifting over the trees of Perth Y Collie.
Quiet intent and polite restraint,
lingering in this near embrace;
watchful and patient
down practised, familiar ways.
But they'd judged it all along,
weighed the slips of time and distance passing,
felt the moment of a beat of wings,
turned,
and were gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nicely written. Enjoyable poem. Thanks, David