Sitting upon a highest tree,
I watch the world below me.
Humans going busy and fast,
Judging me as an outcast.
They call me dark, they call me sly,
A symbol of bad luck, they decry.
But do they know my clever mind,
Or the stories in my flight defined?
If only they could understand,
I'm not a sign of evil hands.
Just a bird with life to live,
In the world we all must give.
So let them judge and let them see,
A crow's perspective is wild and free.
In their prejudice, I find no dismay,
For I am me in every way.
Natiqua Haque
