What happened to the crows?
All the other birds are singing,
Yet this family seems unwilling
to lend their voices
to this summer chorus.

Perhaps they have a reason;
Perhaps they feel it’s not the season
for their melancholy caws,
And so they pause,

And they wait…

For summer to pass, and
then the world at last
will be stripped of all colourful things,
Becoming as black as the crow’s wings –
A similarly stark and dark state.

Perhaps then the crows won’t hesitate
to crowd together,
And take their place
among their fellow, feathered brethren;
Perhaps then they’ll find the strength to sing.