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Amanda Nov 21
The rooster crows when the day begins
He yells "****-a-doodle-doo!"
Awakening not just the farm animals
But the farmer and his tired wife too
Day 13: Write a short poem a child would like
Have ever you heard
    A crow sing sweetly?
A singing bird,
    They sing discreetly.

They caw to scoff,
    Irk and berate you,—
To **** you off,
    And agitate you.

b Apr 11
She said
As the crow flies
So will I to you

And she said
I don't know where
I'd be
without the crows to
guide me home

..On a trip
the last frontier

I guess she spoke of crows

I guess I liked to listen

Let me remember
Your words

When the skies
A darker storm

When the winds
Bend our favorite
In half
Like the letters you sent
Chris Apr 3
A girl walked through the field one morning,
free of worries, doubts and woes.
The path was clear, forever going,
Through the corn field through the rows.

She walked and leaped and laughed and sang,
Until she stopped to see the view,
Something strange has stopped her legs.
She would have walked on if only she knew.

There across her stood a stake
With a strawman tied and bound,
The crows sat on him,sat and ate,
But they didn't make a sound.

A scarecrow- she thought, but amused,
I've never seen one this upclose,
But isn't all for which he's used,
To chase off those nasty crows?

A girl drew closer and so did the clouds,
The birds shrieked and flew away,
The girl went pale and screamed out loud,
She aged a century that sunny day.

There on the stake bound with rope,
In the corn field attracting crows,
Hung, half eaten, beyond hope.
The girl's neighbour, farmer Joe.

She kept silent after that,
As the gray clouds spat out rain.
And the wind blew of the scarecrow's hat,
To reveal the farmers brain.
What most of us don't see.
David Hutton Mar 15
The deceased piling up in battle,
Enough blood to fill more than one barrel.
Crows pillage the scene,
Nibbling on their cuisine.
From a distance you can hear them cackle.
Inspired by Vasily Vereshchagin's "The Apotheosis of War" painting.
hitherto the crows enveloping the sky
and whereupon my zest for life decayed
were a trio of three- she, him and I

in the meadow grew hollyhock and rye
he catered to the grain, i to the flower
the roots began to shift and the rustling wind sigh

though beautiful, she was the apple of my eye
the flower paled in worth, my attention drew elsewhere
her voice was soft and musical; enamourment nigh

quiet was the night and little time did i bide
for death only lay dormant and life dreamt uncertain
so I offered her a walk, a moonlight stride

‘twas lovely until she dipped down, collapsed and cried
i, mortified, could not quell her despair
had he heard?; not a minute passed and ‘lone he arrived

her despair was my own and solace i could not find;
the hollyhock has long since died; i wish for no more
hitherto the crows enveloping the sky
were a trio of three- she, him and i
Grantland Mar 3
Identical crows
Each one the other's shadow
Disappear amid the trees
Hunter Green Nov 2018
What deathly horrors attracts these thousands upon thousands of crows,
When they came there was something in the air that froze.
They veil the sky, drown out all noise, cutting through the vacancy of empty leafless trees,
Never do they fail to arrive, or come quietly one by one,
They come out of nowhere, but to tell the whole city there is no sun.
As they cross under clouds, the ****** increases, seemingly never ending like the dark skies that precede them.
All of Bothell seems to joke with its ever dark skies and black bird cries.
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