Weathercock poem by the Norwegian writer Olav H. Hauge

The weathercock

The smith wrought him

with tail and comb,

high up he came,

the world was new

and the winds many.

He was eager,

tripped about, crowed

and puffed his feathers

at every breeze,

in gales he stood erect

with neck outstretched –

Till he rusted solid

and stayed pointing

obliquely northwards.

The wind comes most often

from that quarter.