Mr. Crow’s Cronies


Crows in rows
Black crows in rows
Big black crows in rows

I look at them
They look at me
Over their shoulder
… disdainfully

They think they’re hard
Like a birdy bouncer
I need a cat
An expert pouncer

As birds go
They’re pretty daring
You can get close
They’re not for scaring
I tiptoe through
Their ranks of darkness
Like Sid James, they
Carry on regardless

Rooks with looks
Looks that kill
With their strange greying bill

They look much older
But are far less bolder
Don’t dare approach
Or try to encroach

As crows go
They’re that bit smaller
They’re in the family
An occasional caller
If they had a party
They’d be invited
But the proper crows
Wouldn’t be excited

Craven ravens
They’re rather greedy
When it’s time to feedy

They’re much bigger birds
And leave bigger turds
All things they’ll munch
When it comes to lunch

As birds go
They’re much more shabby
With their unkempt feathers
And their legs all scabby
They mate for life
Unlike their cousins
The chicks they have
Number in the dozens

The thing with birds
As I wander past
Is they move in herds
And they do it fast
I try to catch one
In a moment of weakness
But I’m outrun
As they rise in meekness
They perch above
And stare at me
There’s no love
Up in that tree
I feel a fool
For even trying
And lose my cool
It’s mortifying

And there’s the rub
With Mr. Crow
I’m not in his club
And doesn’t he know …




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