I don’t normally write poetry. To be honest, I don’t get it, but every once in a while something comes to me fast and I’ve no choice but to write it the way it wants to be.
One morning several winters ago, I finally got around to shoveling the driveway. Sure I could have fired up the snowblower, but the snow was light enough and besides, sometimes I prefer not to listen to the noise. The manual labor is good for me too.
Anyway as I was shoveling, I heard a crow overhead, and as it flew past I began to think how, in the cold of winter, when a lot of Nature is huddling for warmth and saving energy, here I was moving snow from Point A to Point B. The natural place for me would be taking shelter from the cold like the rest of my wild friends.
How asinine do you think I appeared to the crow ?
*****
Winter sun hangs hazy in the air
Gves no warmth as I clear away the snow
High in the sky a crow flies by
Cws out as if to say “hello”
I’m sure it’s absurd to the old blackbird
Why I do this he’ll never know
But as he flies on past
I’m sure I hear him laugh
At me senselessly toiling away below.