Empty field; no-one around; Counting clouds, I lay on the ground.
Deep in thought; I heard your cry;
The call of the crow; deep and dry.
I sat up and saw you there; Blackest of black with your knowing stare.
Feathered crook or Spirit guide; Perched up quietly by my side.
Deceiving appearance, I fear you not! Mischievous bird, this is my spot!
A bird of solitude, not today;
A bad omen, The Murder on its way….
* A group of crows is called a Murder, fascinating fact.