Crowing About It

 

Crows are very vocal, crying out to each other.

Who knows what they say.

It may be “I am pretty”

or they might say “I know the way.”

 

They swoop in and get real quiet

when they find a morsel sitting on the ground

No alerts are called out then

Not wanting others coming round.

 

Black bird looks around to see if all is safe.

“This is my food and I shall eat it.

I would prefer that others would caw and caw

but for now that they just beat it.”

 

Yet should my cawing suddenly go silent

and they recall where last I was

To me a scout they will have sent

to help determine the cause.

 

For I care not to share my new found food

But when they appear to gulp it,

I won’t protest the arrival of the brood

With whom the chow I will split.

 

Because these are the guys and gals

who grew up in my hood.

And as we peck and chew and peck

I’m too busy eating to scold.

 

We crows are on the lookout

for food and foes alike.

When we find the first, we eat, but

with the others make a terrible fight

 

Other birds are prettier, we are cunning true

but when the black bird caws you must admit

you look to see from whence it came

and he is too into it to ever quit.

 

This poem I cannot finish,

I just can’t find the words.

But this I know is ever true

There will always be black birds.

 

by Bob Bekins,  September, 2015

 

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