Okay, I've got no business mucking around in poetry, but every now and then after a few glasses of wine, I just can't help myself.
Crows
I think that I shall never know,
A greater character than the crow
They hop, they skip, and caw at us
Their purpose it seems to raise a ruckus
Ebony eyes flash with devilry
These black avians are keen on revelry
Survive and adapt seems the rule
These inky Einsteins can even make tools
Always cautious, always wary
Ever playful, ever daring
Nature’s intention epitomized
The world over they’re recognized
If I could believe in reincarnation
Rather than return a Dane or Haitian
Given my druthers, I know
I’d chose to return to life as a crow
The Poet In Me
A poet I’m not
Though I feel the urge
I don’t know a pentameter
From a mournful dirge