Corvid the Crow

Corvid the Crow

The winged bandit of sparkly things

Flies o’er the field of corn,

And he is a wise and ancient bird

Of heart’s desires borne.

Blackest feathers, orange-yellow beak,

He caws to give a warning,

Ever vigilant a guardian he,

Preferring gaiety to mourning.

Psychopomp and watcher he

And executor of law,

Teacher of the ways of life

Sometimes with humor raw.

A creative bird but not held down,

The crow can be relied on;

His mischief and his swarthy ways

Often get him lied on.

Ah, crow, crow, delightful bird

A family bird is here,

Crow will never fly quite straight…

But that’s what makes him dear.

ã2 June 1999, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.