There’s a crow in this picture,
Yet he seeks to deceive.
Motionless, he stands
Pretending to be a branch, or twig.
When I turn away, he caws,
A crow’s laugh at my ineptitude.
He may have won this round,
But when the sky lightens,
I shall have my revenge.
Oh, yes, my friends,
For as the blue reveals him,
I’ll caw back so loud that he falls from his perch.
I shall have the final laugh.
I have it all planned from my hospital ward window.
What’s his game
It’s not his park,
Should let me be.
Instead of bristling,
Trying to look me
In the eye.
Giving me looks,
I’ll tell you what,
I think he’s nuts!
But better him
Than lion or bear,
As I’d be gone
No longer there.
So in conclusion
Do your worst,
For in staring war,
I’ll come first.
Of what do you spy
My coal-flecked friend
From your eyrie heights?
Clad land of purest white
Seems too sterile for you!
No food is there on frozen grass;
No berries left on barren limbs,
A spartan landscape to crow’s eye.
But, do I misjudge you I wonder!
Have I not climbed to snow capped peak;
Have I no task but one: to view.
Is that it my hunched friend?
Have you taken a moment from cawing at the wind
To drink in the simpler beauties of life,
As have I?
Perhaps brethren are we,
In savouring winter’s frigid embrace.
And, if that is indeed the case,
I shall apologise and stand a moment with you,
If I may,
And question you no more?
Together we shall share this snapshot in time
And I will remember you always, as kin.
To be a crow on witching night
And caw at all and give such fright
Such blessed change from normal fair
When people just do not so care
As in the light of normal day
That rusted voice just grates away
And forces all to rant and rage
At timeless call, at ruckus caged
So sing my heart out all the night
And in said fright I’ll take delight
That in this one night of the year
The sounds I make cause only fear
(Image courtesy xdesktopwallpapers.com)