Burly at dawn as the bare high
Arch of the beech tree is defined
When the grey sky is pale and raw
With no last star,
Some twenty rooks sit with their tails aligned,
Shaggy their old nests in the blotched trees are.
Chat-chat they cry and stay,
Then to work fly away,
Black in the reddened day,
Caw-caw, caw-caw.