BB Grey–musings

The Glossy Black Crow

There’s this glossy black crow, sleek and sly, 

Squawking and strutting, a discordant tune, 

With feathers like night, he claims the sky, 

A feast he insists is his alone to consume.

*

Before a motley court he pleads his case— 

A squirrel, two pigeons, dog, and wise old cat— 

Their eyes sharp as knives in judgment’s grace, 

In this makeshift tribunal where justice sat.

*

The air grows thick with his raucous cries, 

The carcass on the road, a foul, dark smear. 

A recess called beneath darkening skies, 

Leaves us wondering if we should interfere.

*

Squawk, squawk, he mocks with brazen sound, 

Walking away as we question what’s right, 

Then with a screech, the air’s unbound— 

Feathers whirl, red on black, a gruesome sight.

*

The jury returns, drawn by the scent of fate, 

“Two for one,” the special of this grim affair. 

They gather round to deliberate, 

Learning nature’s harsh law, a lesson rare.