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This poem is taken from PN Review 102, Volume 21 Number 4, March - April 1995.

The Third Corbie W.N. Herbert

1
I have seen the third corbie,
the one who doesn't speak
but is always riding away
down the straight lanes by
Thornhill and Clackmarras on
his bicycle made of dead men's bones
with a skull for a rattling bell.

2
The third corbie doesn't speak
with the raw black voice
of other crows; his beak
is full of soot
which trickles from it as
he murmurs to himself
the names of the dead you think
you would have liked to meet.

3
Today I watched the third corbie and
...


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