I watch my grandson
 
watching a raven strutting
 
on an autumn fence.

 
 

I praise in springtime
 
all the things that can’t be tamed:
 
stone, wind, raven’s wing.

 
 

Tell me again, wind,
 
why you’ve placed your loud spring voice
 
on the raven’s wing.

 
 

Twisted tales of spring—
 
I hear them from the raven
 
and the mountain pine.

 
 
 

praising in autumn
 
all the things I cannot tame:
 
stone, wind, raven’s wing

 
 
 

From the sun I learn
 
a narrative of darkness;
 
from the raven, light.

 
 
 

Ravens need no shawls,
 
because their sleek, black feathers
 
outshine royal robes.

 
 
 

Pesky mosquito,
 
even the loud-mouthed raven
 
finds you annoying!

 
 
 

Raven on the fence,
 
how much more must I endure
 
of your cheeky tongue?

 
 
 

Little granddaughter,
 
you were singing songs for me,
 
then the raven came.