Crows in Winter

Three crows and I
going about our business,
the day a crisp retort.

They mock me
for pushing snow
from here to there

When all you have to do
is wait for spring.
Maybe they envy a little

My opposable thumbs
that can work the zipper
on a goose down jacket

But their feathers, shiny black,
are perfectly ingenious
beyond anything made by man.


About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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