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THE TWO RAVENS (poem) - Clare Pollard - United Kingdom - Poetry International
 
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THE TWO RAVENS
As I walked down a street alone,
I heard two ravens make a plan,
one bird unto the other said:
“Which shall we dine on of the dead?”

“Out there upon a dirty track
        way down a down, way down
a woman’s spread upon her back,
        in the mud,
her throat cut and her body raped,
for bags of books, a glimpse of face.”
        O down, derry derry, if she’s bad they’re good.

The bird said: “No one cares she lies
in dust near dogs in smears of flies,
the army’s led by fear and oil,
the husband’s had his honour spoiled,

“her son’s stood in a hood of black
        way down a down, way down
a donkey, ridden, told to crack,
        in the blood.
And other women fear to speak,
which means she’ll waste if not for beaks.”
        O down, derry derry, if they’re bad she’s good.

So low as planes they did swoop down,
to chew on unveiled eyes of brown,
they pecked out clumps of her dark hair
to line their nests when they grew bare.

And many commentators moaned,
        way down a down, way down
but armoured cars drove past the bones.
        And I stood
I watched the ravens feed on war,
and knew I’d watch for evermore.
        O down, derry derry, if she’s bad we’re good.