The blue jay with a crest on his
head
Comes round the
cabin in the snow.
He runs in the snow like a bit of blue metal,
Turning his back on
everything.
From the pine-tree that towers and
hisses like a pillar of
shaggy
cloud
Immense above
the cabin
Comes a
strident laugh as we approach, this little black dog
and
I.
So halts the
little black bitch on four spread paws in the snow
And looks up inquiringly into
the pillar of cloud,
With a tinge of misgiving.
Ca-a-a! comes the scrape of ridicule out of the
tree.
What voice of the Lord is that, from the tree of smoke?
Oh Bibbles, little black bitch in
the snow,
With a
pinch of snow in the groove of your silly snub nose.
What do you look at me
for?
What do you
look at me for, with such misgiving?
It’s the blue jay laughing at
us.
It’s the blue
jay jeering at us, Bibs.
Every day since the snow is
here
The blue jay
paces round the cabin, very busy, picking up
bits,
Turning his
back on us all,
And
bobbing his thick dark crest about the snow, as if
darkly saying:
I
ignore those folk who look out.
You acid-blue metallic
bird,
You thick bird
with a strong crest
Who are you?
Whose
boss are you, with all your bully way?
You copper-sulphate
blue-bird!
Lobo.