🔵 By Christopher S. De Roberts. Photo by lauragrafie.
As the crow flies
You can hear the echo of his cries
When he moves through the valley
Others seem to rally
They follow him as he starts to descend
They are with him to the end
One by one they drop from the sky
To forage on the mountain high
A murder is a band of crows
And the black silk forever flows
They spread their wings and ride the breeze
Now barely skimming the trees
As they find a place and begin to land
Something happens and breaks the band
Some of them begin to fight
So they start to take flight
Now that the band has broken
their calls are no longer spoken.