The crows take wing over flat spare land.
The farmers are annoyed. They clap their weathered hands.

The harvesters are hungry. The frost is near at hand.
The crows scour their beaks on the flat dry land.

Church women clutching their worn out baskets
praise the Lord and the church supper biscuits.

The locals gather round at the produce stand.
The crows fly hard over flat bare land.

The corn is in the silo. Only stubble remains.
The crows caw harsh on the dark brown plain.