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.
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