Every morning when I look outside
my bedroom window I see a Murder –
however the “Murder” that I speak of
is nothing to be concerned over,
because what I see is merely
an assemblance of crows
all gathered together,
all cawing to one another –
which occurs like clockwork every morning
and all throughout the day,
and it is to the caws of crows
that I have heard and awoken to for years;
because for some reason
where I live is like Crow central for
a large number of nests in tall trees
that are home to the jet-black,
majestic, mysterious, captivating,
soaring, distinctive, supernatural
spirits of the sky who are considered
to be among the most intelligent
of all the birds of the world,
who are capable of doing things
that no other bird would even
think of doing, and who definitely
like to be heard whenever there is
a gathering of them, that is as if
they acting out a scene from a play
for all to hear that is called:
“A Murder of Crows”.