The Crow

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.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.