Mr. Crow, what do you know
that I don't, jabbering, squawking in the morning air?
Are you making sure your friends are aware
of an owl sleeping somewhere near?
Or possibly a dirty trick -
you cunning, conniving king of magic -
to lure the others away
so you can get to your secret, shiny prize
sitting on the roadside?
Eyes of charcoal,
feathers darker than the Devil's soul,
Mr. Crow you captivate me
like no other winged wonder.