I have wings and I am black.
I wake at morn, go in search of snack.
I have shades of grey and I like to prey
On little insects, on any little thing that comes my way!
When I call in my glorious voice,
Little boys stone me: oh how that annoys!
I hop, skip and jump and beak into the piles
Of dirt, filth and vomit surrounded by flies.
I comb my feathers as neatly as I can
Yet nobody looks up to me and admires my clan.
I am looked upon as a bad omen, a witch's friend
But am not a stereotype, I believe I am different.
I perch on trees, I nest, I live,
I outstretch my plumes, I kiss the sky above.
As my friends are many, you poets ignore me,
You yearn for the rare kinds, that turns you all dreamy.
Yet when I see you men everyday, I have my peace,
I see my scavenger's soul reflected....we are one in deeds.