Graced By The Crow

I see them in the day, as I wake, I see them see me as well.

They hover over and land around me.
To feed from the ground, and I feed thee as well.

They visit and stay awhile. They lift off and land again.
In rotation, they do this often. One sails as one feeds
One looks out and one gathers.

When their numbers multiply they follow the same.
2 and 2, they gather and graze, 3 and 3, and 4 and 4.
A murder orchestra, they are the team.

They play as well, with each other and me too.
They play on the ground; they play in the air,
But mostly upon rooftop where in numbers they gather.

They stick around for a while, until it is time for them to round up
They resume to their flight with no planned destination
They give me flight as well when it is my time to go.

They grace me with their song of calls
They give me acceptance and assurance of who I am
At least what I am doing here at this time.

They walk and study everything
They approach near but cautiously
I see them when they aren’t even around

I am appreciative of their flight
Their stare and sometimes glare
Their deliberation and conviction with each step, move, and take off.

I am appreciative of their beauty, of what some see as ugliness.
Their regalness makes them stalwart a dedicated bird to each other
They do no hear mockery, only jealousy, they fly on.

Timing is everything with this aerial black winged virtuoso.
They are cunning, smart, and all too creative of their surroundings.
Their patience and presence makes them a recognized force.

For the crow is truth in all things of life:
The proud, the determined, the loved, the liar, and the thief,
The stealer of the air and ground they occupy, the deceiver, the helpless, and even the wanderer.

For we are the crows, some in more respect than others.
Some flock in numbers, some alone.
For those that flock separately, we flock together under the same sky.


May 6, 2012