”Crow at the Edge of the Yard”
A crow lowers itself
into a scatter of restless ants,
lets them climb the dark lift
of its wings.
Each tiny body
moves with its own intent,
a restless swarm working
through the bird’s old grit.
Nothing grand occurs—
just a creature allowing
the world to work on it,
letting small lives
soften what it carries.
Nearby, a currawong watches,
head angled,
as if weighing the practice,
as if wondering
what it might feel like
to let the ground
do its quiet labour.
Not every bird
takes up the same ritual.
Some stand apart,
listening to the low stir
of their own feathers,
waiting for a moment
when the world
might touch them differently.
.
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 17th, 2026 05:00
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell
Offline)
Comments2
An ant bath letting nature do its work. The intelligent make use of nature while the world looks on in wonder. Some understand many don't some have faith others not. And so do we learn from others or not living in chosen ignorance of what could be. Lovely Cryptic
Street smarts any day, everyday 🕊️🙏🏻
Animals know a good thing when it comes a crawling, mutual consent.
It's like that scratch you can't reach, and you have to delegate the task to the good lady, which can be blissful or a death wish.
And a free roadkill lunch should luck turn. Pardon the morbidness 🕊️🙏🏻
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.