A crow flying back and forth,
Picking sticks and cotton both,
Building a nest on a branches crest,
Tired after the day’s work,
It decided it needed a rest.
It flies to a puddle brought by rain,
Hoping the water will ease away its pain.
A growl for flesh moves it the slaughterhouse,
Hoping to find something more exquisite than a dead mouse.
Adaptable and opportunistic,
Eats almost everything.
Eating carrions is not unrealistic.
A subject of myth and lore,
Stories born in Greece and Rome.
Bringers of message and rain.