GUTTED of station, noise alone, <br />The crow's voice trembles down the sky <br />As if this nitrous flange of stone <br />Wept suddenly with such a cry; <br />As if the rock found lips to sigh, <br />The riven earth a mouth to moan; <br />But we that hear them, stumbling by, <br />Confuse their torments with our own. <br />Over the huge abraded rind, <br />Crow-countries graped with dung, we go, <br />Past gullies that no longer flow <br />And wells that nobody can find, <br />Lashed by the screaming of the crow, <br />Stabbed by the needles of the mind.<br /><br />Kenneth Slessor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/crow-country/
