Call their group murder or bandits
The crows do not alter their ways,
They must kill, scavenge or steal.
Their strong beaks and sharp nose
And their shrewd and watchful eyes
Have not failed them in their hunt.
I see them sitting on the parapet
Opposite my window about to spring
A bold surprise on the waiting world
That no longer looks for dirty rats,
They will teach us to hunt those rats.
Monday, March 8, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: thought