(34) The Cry of the Crow

Im big and Im mean and as ugly as sin,
My feathers are shiny and black,
While a proper regard for other birds lives
Is something I totally lack.


My voice is as harsh as a circular saw
And I use it as much as I can,
Its as loud and as cruel at the end of the day
As it was when the morning began.


I look down with contempt on the whole human race,
As tragics fast bound to the earth,
And their puny attempts at crow management
Just fill me with all kinds of mirth.


They rant and they rave and tear at their hair,
Even write letters to papers,
Wherever you go the complaints overflow,
Of outrageous crows and their capers.


Poison their food, shoot them on sight!
Such are the cries we are hearing,
And worrying signs of species assault
Are, sadly to say, now appearing.


Well, for those who would say Its crows or its us
Take heed and let caution prevail,
Theres a fine for attacks on us innocent crows,
And even, in some cases, jail.


So heres some advice from a crow in the know,
A message thats straight from the bill,
Dont try to reverse the pure nature of things,
Youre just pushing water up hill.


We were here first, just doing our thing,
Before your lot came on the scene,
When the rivers were pure, the air fresh and clean,
And the whole place was wall to wall green.


And well still be around when you blow yourselves up,
Or clone yourselves out of the show,
And the only sound heard oer earths ravaged plain
Is the sad lonely call of a crow.


F.D.