The Murder

Empty field; no-one around; Counting clouds, I lay on the ground.

Deep in thought; I heard your cry;

Caw Caw

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;

Caw Caw

A bad omen, The Murder on its way….


* A group of crows is called a Murder, fascinating fact.

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