I am the bird, but crow.
Blessed with black, i know.

I belong to the pageant of birds
Which are called by many words.

I do sing my own lay;
I also welcome the day.

I fly; i rejoice in the breeze.
I play; i leap in the trees.

I take delight in spring.
I like snow, falling.

Alas! I am not hailed at the door.
They shoo me away to soar.

I am cursed; i am much hated,
For i am black, so ill-fated.