Crow, the doves descending on the square <br />have sullied your name, cooed gossip to wealthy tourists, <br />their gullets stuffed with handouts, while you soar <br />over the oaks with dreaming clouds, with the glare <br />and glimmer of the distant but holy sun <br />in your misunderstood eyes, your paeans one <br />with the wind. Yet it was you who, perched on the shoulder <br />of Jesus, watched him suffer and heard him cry, <br />and it was you who saw the enormous boulder <br />moved, and you who saw him enter the sky.<br /><br />Leo Yankevich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/crow-8/
