Cruel and uncontrolled
proliferation
of April wind-
swept
clouds—
compounded
by
ever-
increasingly-
grayer
and
larger and coldthundering
cloud
after
cloud after
cloud
after cloud—may be impacting
the round and
the sweet-
tempered little red
robins—sending them
all darting
off for shelter
somewhere—or other
unseen across this soggy old churchyard;
but—for better
or
otherwise—it seems that
weather
is weather is
weather is weather!
to the hulking
pair
of gaunt still American
black crows—
hunched
and on guard for
whatever—up there
in the
jagged oak limbs.
