The Raven

A raven found its haven
In an attic down the street
A great place for him to stay awhile
Food there and some heat
And as a very intelligent bird
Lots of things to do
Discovering what the human kind
Leave around, each clue

Bottles boxes bags of stuff
Old books and a guitar
A thoroughly testing playground
For this wild hearted tzar
Somewhere to come back to
A place he could call home
He could bring a bird back to
A great big garden gnome

Stood in one far corner
And decorations hung
Clearly at one time YULE
Was thought about
And perhaps the younger
Souls who lived here
Loved the sparkly string
But now the dust had settled
And the bells had lost their ring

Creation and existence
An undeniable fact
Ravens have ability
And, how they react
They are existensial beings
With the power of prophecy
Amazing imitation skills
And insight constantly

Well grounded and attested
And ofcourse the power of flight
And Linguistic displacement
Shared with humans so a right
Of influence and tradition
The wildness always there
Able to make their own decisions
Whilst up there in the air

A lifespan of some twenty years
And curiosity
Fortuitous and able to think things
Through and see
Thoughts to deeds with memory
Ancestral knowledge built in
And used regularly

Omnivorous the choice is theirs
The season have become
An awareness in their diary
A kind of rule of thumb
Unpredicatable behaviour
Excitable they be
Into lateral thinking
And randomness for free
Really individual and self taught
Through and through
The Raven may weigh two kilos
But would shock you what it can do

Thirty different sounds it makes
So originality
It can think outside of our box
Remember it is free
No restraint no passport
No flying licence he
Can up and go and be in the flow
Unlike you and me

To get back to the attic
The dusty old guitar
With all its strings unbroken
Interested this young tzar
The sounds were quite remarkable
They were sounds that he could make
Imitate the twanging
What more curious a trait

Is that a true transcendance
For dancing he did enjoy
He made his own music
So a really clever boy
And the garden gnome he had seen others
In places around about
But was unsure why they never moved
Even though they were out

Hardly any enemies
Perhaps the owls who came
And stole an egg but they could break a leg
And fail to take the blame
Ravens can be aggressive
As we all can under stress
Which their power of observation
Can seemingly redress
The Most dire situations
And that is a good thing
Clearly to this world out there
A magick they do bring

They are kind of migrants
Who dwell on the outside
Squatters on the mortal plain
But of course can live inside
If they choose to like this attic
A kind of stowaway
But never an invader
More a traveller so to say

The ability to fly into a city park
And sit
Quietly on a Hawthorn tree
And use their brand of wit
With human beings on a wall
Below what he now does
Is mimics the guitar sounds
Which gives him quite a buzz

And frightens the life out of humans
Thats his ability
He pays no rent and is gcontent
With being always free

Unlike his mates at Tower Hill
Their wings clipped so they say
Its from some bygone story
That if they flew away
London would be invaded
It came from Charles the second
Who was then the king
Who didnt listen to his astrologer
And the ravens he did bring
Really into history
For they have now been there
For centuries fed every day
with the finest English fayre

170 grams of meat
And bird biscuits soaked in blood
They are near the Wakefield Tower
And often see a flood
Of humans who come visit
The glory of the tower
That sits beside the river
Rolling by each hour