A flurry of feathers
Of the blackest night
Lively death
Give an eerie fright
And yet this was the day
And the day was cold
Mist and gloom
And story untold
The man perched on his fence
The edge of his home
Fading light
Thought he was alone
They came without warning
He screamed in surprise
Tar-black wings
And death in their eyes
The crows were upon him
They cawed and they shrieked
Stinging pecks
And he was asleep
And he woke with no fear
In new life he rose
Over and done
Was the murder of crows.
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Murder of Crows
PoetryAn eerie poem about a murder of crows. Fun fact: a group of crows is called a murder. I'm actually pretty fond of crows and am not superstitious about those intelligent birds at all, but hey, what else are you going to write about when "murder" is i...
