I waited....

....all this Summer for the Barley to turn golden
and for 40 Crows to be flying just above it
like in Van Gogh's last painting before he died.

This, even although I was surrounded by ripening fields
and Crows and Rooks and Jackdaws galore,
who would have all been fine to do the job,
is as close as I got.

Now the Barley is cut and Summer's almost gone.

And Van Gogh's last painting was his best
and the saddest I've ever known.