Magnetic trees draw rook and jackdaw
from the lowering sky like iron filings,
drawn from the last rays of the setting sun
in raucous numbers
to the hub of their feeding grounds
on Norfolk’s flat lands.
Chattering, jack jack jack
to and fro, cawing into the dark
as dead leaves rising up
returning life to winter trees,
shouting back their defiance
at their untimely demise.