I had been hoping to hear Wilson, Ballard, and McGlown
Harmonize over sweet horn-work
But I am stuck with lesser writers than they had
Who pen far poorer songs for singers who should
Not so much as audition for the frogs’ parts
Or the crows’

The latter
Of course
Got many auditions
And are amply cast
Richly costumed
And if there are a few who play the ravens’ parts
Thought and memory perching on the shoulders of the mighty
Whispering what is needful to hear
There are more who croak out corpse-breath with glee
Before bending their beaks to feast again

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