bad pair of parents these two always dressed for funerals,
wings feathered with death and flight construct a nest with cunning,
safe from predators in the branches high of a safe evergreen,
each year for four years, two crows hatches one egg, alive
share the work, feed the one, day and night, work the pair, with hope,
Caa-crows, caa-crows, caa-caa, goes the crow, baby crow has passed,
not first flight aloft with air and sky beneath the young wings,
yet from life, to Earth who claims, the prize, before four black eyes,
‘Tis the same every Spring these two, evermore a funeral
some people don't like crows, some crows are not good parents, some people would like these two, as they are not adding to the population of
crows.
