All the way West in little Broad Chalke,
Not crows but rooks fly in to talk
About their glowing black affairs
While all unseeing, we trudge the stairs.
Another rook flies in
Another rook flies out
They talk and talk
But what about?
Suddenly the sun climbs higher than high
Above even where the rooks can fly–
Still they glide and sweep the sky
While we, eyes down, still laugh and cry.
And a rook flies in
While another flies out
They screech and click
But what about?
Those who fly above us here
Unmoved by our loves and fears
Live in simpler, harsher ways,
An eternity in each day.
Rooks keep flying
In and out
Never caring
What we’re about.
