Feast

The crows descends like a plague,

Feasting on death’s remains,

A body left to rot,

Their hunger never wanes.

Black wings flap in the breeze,

Eyes sharp as they survey,

The feast before them,

A macabre buffet.

Beaks rip and tear,

Flesh and bone they consume,

Nature’s scavengers,

Their purpose is to resume.

The cycle of life and death,

Is a gruesome sight to see,

But for the crows,

It’s simply their destiny.

The body’s now nothing,

But a memory,

The crows move on,

In search of their next prey.

Flyings

The crows take to the sky,

With wings as black as night,

Their caws echo through the air,

As they take to flight.

In perfect unison,

They glide and soar,

A symphony of feathers,

As they explore.

Their beady eyes,

Take in all below,

A kingdom of their own,

As they come and go.

With grace and power,

They fly so free,

A reminder of the beauty,

Of nature’s majesty.

The crows in flight,

A sight to behold,

A reminder of the wonder,

Of the stories yet untold.

Smolding

Crows perched on smoldering rooftops,

Watching the town burn below,

Their black eyes gleaming in the flames,

As they caw and cackle, a mournful show.

The streets are empty, save for ash and smoke,

Buildings crumble in the heat,

The crows, silent sentinels,

Witness to the fiery defeat.

Once a bustling place, now a ghost town,

The crows the only living souls,

They’ll stay and watch, until all is ash,

And the fire’s fury takes its tolls.

But even in the darkest hour,

The crows remind us to carry on,

For in the ashes, new life will sprout,

And the town will be reborn.

Fight

Two crows on a branch,

Beaks locked in bitter fight,

Feathers fly, a fierce clash,

In the morning light.

One, the ruler of the roost,

The other, a challenger bold,

They battle for the right to rule,

Their story, yet to be told.

The crow king, fierce and proud,

His beak, sharp as a sword,

The usurper, quick and nimble,

His wings, a blur in the horde.

They dive and swoop,

Clawing at each other’s eyes,

The branch shakes beneath them,

As they fight to claim the prize.

But in the end, only one will rise,

To rule the skies once more,

While the other, defeated,

Will be forced to find a new shore.

So let the crows fight,

For their kingdom in the trees,

For in their struggle,

We see the beauty of the breeze.

Window Sill

A crow on a windowsill,

Watches a man below,

Sunken in his chair,

In a shadow of woe.

The man, with eyes downcast,

Stares into the empty space,

His thoughts, a heavy weight,

On a heart, full of grace.

The crow, with eyes so sharp,

Sees the pain etched on his face,

A silent witness, to his sorrow,

In this, a lonely place.

The man, lost in his thoughts,

Does not see the crow above,

But the bird sees all,

And feels the man’s pain and love.

The crow takes flight,

Leaving the man to his grief,

But in its own way,

It offers a small relief.

For in the crow’s watchful gaze,

The man was not alone,

And though the bird is gone,

It’s presence, a reminder, that he’s known.

Rebirth

Black as night, a crow’s call

Echoes through the empty streets

Omen of change to come

A symbol of rebirth

In the darkness, hope still beats

Messenger

A messenger of fate

The crow’s presence, a warning

Of death and endings

But also new beginnings

In its shadow, growth is forming

Trickster

A trickster, a shape-shifter

The crow, a symbol of magic

Guiding us through the unknown

With its intelligence

A guide to our cosmic attic

Keeper

A keeper of secrets

The crow, a silent observer

Of the world’s mysteries

With its dark, enigmatic gaze

It holds the answers, we treasure

Protection

A symbol of protection

The crow, fierce and watchful

Guarding our homes and hearts

With its sharp claws and beak

It keeps the darkness at bay, mindful

Myth

The crow, a creature of myth

A harbinger of sorrow

But also, of strength and power

With its dark wings, it soars

A reminder, to face tomorrow

Divine

A symbol of the divine

The crow, a messenger of the gods

With its mysterious ways

It guides us to the truth

And shows us, where our path broads

Adaptability

A symbol of adaptability

The crow, a survivor

In the face of adversity

With its resourcefulness

It thrives, in any scenario

Soul

The crow, a symbol of the soul

Guiding us on our journey

Through life and death

With its dark, mysterious ways

It reminds us, we’re not alone, certainly.

Ode to Crows

Oh crows, with your sleek black wings,

Soaring high, on silent wings.

With intelligence shining bright,

In your eyes a curious light.

Through city streets and countryside,

You roam with grace and fierce pride.

A symbol of death and mystery,

Yet also of adaptability.

With your raucous calls and clever ways,

You have earned a special place,

In the hearts and myths of man,

A creature both wild and wily, grand.

Oh crows, with your jet black feathers,

May you continue to soar forever.

A creature of beauty and might,

A true inspiration and delight.

Through Eyes

God looked down upon the earth,

Through the eyes of a crow,

And saw the world in a different way,

A new perspective to know.

The city streets, a maze of lights,

The countryside, a tapestry,

The crows’ kingdom, a vast expanse,

Of beauty and diversity.

From rooftops high, the crows surveyed,

The hustle and bustle below,

With wisdom and grace, they watched it all,

The ebb and flow.

God marveled at the crows’ insight,

Their cunning and their wit,

Their adaptability, their resilience,

Their ability to endure and exist.

Through the eyes of a crow,

God saw the world anew,

A reminder that there’s always more,

To learn, to see, to do.

And so God blessed the crows,

For showing a new way,

A different point of view,

That would forever stay.

Stolen

A crow perched on a nearby tree,

With a mischievous gleam in his eye,

As a child sat enjoying his treat,

A tasty ice cream cone, so spry.

The crow watched, with hungry gaze,

As the boy took a lick or two,

He knew just what he had to do,

To get a taste of that creamy dew.

With a quick and stealthy flight,

The crow swooped down from the sky,

He snatched the cone with one swift bite,

And soared back up, soaring high.

The child was shocked, and let out a cry,

His treat, now gone in a blink,

But the crow just cawed with delight,

As he enjoyed his tasty pink and white,

And as the child went to buy another one,

The crow sat on a branch, content,

A reminder that in nature, all is fair,

and sometimes, the clever one’s are the ones that are meant to be the gent.

Raven and the Crow

A raven and a crow sat in a tree,

Their feathers black as night,

They bickered back and forth,

About who was the better sight.

“I am the raven, grand and strong,”

Said the first with pride,

“With a voice that echoes through the land,

And a wingspan wide.”

“Ha!” cawed the crow, “I am the clever one,

With a wit as sharp as a knife,

I can navigate the city streets,

And find a meal with ease, that’s life”

The raven scoffed, “You may be sly,

But I am the bird of myths and lore,

My presence is ominous and grand,

You’re just a common crow, nothing more.”

The crow rolled his eyes, “You may be grand,

But I am the survivor,

I can adapt to any environment,

You’re just a pretender.”

They bickered on and on,

Their voices ringing in the air,

But in the end, they both were birds,

With their own unique flair.

So let the raven have his myths,

And the crow, his clever ways,

For each has their own strengths and gifts,

And in the end, beauty always pays.

Circus Dance

The circus stage was aglow,

With bright lights and colors,

A crowd of performers,

Dancing to the circus numbers.

The ringmaster led the way,

With a top hat and a cane,

He directed the crowd,

With a flourish and a wave.

Acrobats tumbled and flipped,

In a flurry of motion,

Jugglers tossed balls in the air,

With graceful devotion.

Clowns made the crowd laugh,

With silly jokes and pranks,

While aerialists soared,

On silks and trapezes, ranks

The music played on,

A lively tune and beat,

The crowd danced on stage,

With two left feet

And as the crowd danced,

The circus came alive,

A celebration of talent,

A show that will thrive

So come one, come all,

To the circus tonight,

Where a crowd of performers,

Will take to the spotlight.

Hera’s Birds

In the realm of the gods,

Hera, queen of the skies,

Took notice of a crow,

With feathers black as night.

The bird was injured,

And in need of care,

So Hera, with compassion,

Took him in, to repair.

She kissed his head,

And whispered words of healing,

With her divine touch,

The crow’s wounds began peeling

She fed him ambrosia,

And gave him nectar to drink,

And soon the crow was well,

And able to fly and think.

The crow was grateful,

To the goddess above,

And swore to serve her,

With loyalty and love.

So from that day on,

The crow flew by Hera’s side,

A faithful companion,

A bird of beauty and pride.

And as they soared through the skies,

Together they’d sing and shout,

With Hera’s love and protection,

The crow would never be without.

The World

An adventurous crowd stepped on board,

A grand and sturdy ship,

With sails that billowed in the wind,

Their hearts were full of spirit.

They left behind the naysayers,

Who whispered words of doubt,

For the crowd was determined,

To see the world about.

They set sail into the unknown,

With courage in their hearts,

And as they ventured out to sea,

Their spirits began to start.

The waves were high, the winds were strong,

But the crowd held on tight,

For they knew that this journey,

Was worth the fight.

They saw the world in a different way,

With new eyes, so full of wonder,

From the bright lights of the city,

To the beauty of the thunder.

They met new friends, and saw new things,

And experienced great thrills,

And as they sailed back home,

Their hearts were filled with thrills.

And though the naysayers still whispered,

The crowd knew in their hearts,

That their journey was worth it,

For the memories would never depart.

So here’s to the adventurous crowd,

Who dared to set sail and explore,

For they showed that life is meant to be lived,

And greatness is what we’re meant for.

Let the Good Time Roll

A crow, with feathers black as night,

Flew into a garden one day,

Where a bottle of fermented berries,

Had been left out to play.

He took a sip, and then another,

Feeling the buzz start to rise,

And soon the crow was tipsy,

With stars in his eyes.

He stumbled around the garden,

Meeting all sorts of birds,

A peacock with a colorful tail,

And a parrot with words.

He laughed and sang and danced,

With a carefree heart,

And as the night went on,

He played his part.

He met a woodpecker, a wren,

A toucan and a goose,

He shared his drink with all of them,

And they all felt loose.

The night was wild, and full of fun,

A memory to treasure,

And as the crow sobered up,

He knew he’d found a new pleasure.

So here’s to the crow, who took a sip,

And let the good times roll,

For sometimes, it’s the unexpected,

That makes us feel whole.