The Road and the Sky

The crow flew down to the top of the fence

and wiped its beak with a slow…snick…snack

Its feathers were perfect,

umbrella black.

What was it thinking, that wisely old crow?

The world went  thundering, hurtling by.

But his were the trees and his was the sky.

Stood on the corners of fairy circles,

traveller ponies were back in town,

with shaggy heads up

and shaggy heads down.

What were they watching, with conker brown eyes?

The world went by with its heavy load.

But theirs were the fields

and theirs was the road.