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                                                                                 A CURIOUS ENCOUNTER


While passing by some cabins, a raven I did spy,

Who captured my attention with his knowing beady eye.

I couldn’t help but notice by his clever mimicry,

That this jauntiest of corvids was speaking straight to me.

                                                                            His throaty croak persisted until I understood,

That this raven was the oldest one inhabiting these woods.

He told me what he’d witnessed while overhead he flew,

And having since recorded same, now I’m telling you.

These clever birds apprise themselves of every human act,

Then remember and preserve them as certain raven fact.

Their memories go far, far back into the mists of time,

                                                                    So, certain jottings I’ve condensed into my little rhyme.

Events observed by this old raven to me he did confide,

Though these incidents, I must confess, are an insufficient guide:

                                                                    Well before the white man, there were solely aborigines

Who settled near the shadows of these monumental trees.

They endured in isolation along the ocean’s shingled shore,

And delved into the forest when in need of nature’s store.

                                                                       Once upon the Salish Sea a ship from far-off came,

Its master charting harbour land bearing now his name.

Later on, while the raven perched beside a trickling stream,

A great black beast bore westward belching smoke and steam.

Then, an edifice of stone arose as high as any nest,

A soaring symbol and embodiment of every human quest.

A while ago he watched some men raising logs on site,

To build a lodge that burst ablaze one ghastly summer night.

Astonished by the grand events this sharp-eyed raven saw,

I marvelled at the wisdom shown with every raucous caw.

Now, of all those aged black birds who live twixt sea and sky,

 To what locale does the oldest one always yearn to fly?

Where calls this ancient corvid to bear homage and return?

Quoth this elder-most of ravens – “My home is Hollyburn!”


[With apologies to Poe]                               

A. G. M. F.