On the Vulture's Roost

Vulture; brazen carnivore, perched high atop the tree waiting, just waiting, to swoop down for his opportunity to pick the bones of something or someone he wishes dead and all the while he roosts and waits for his daily bread. Nasty black-eyed bird of prey, your ego is fat with bloat. Hide your cause beneath your claws, on yourself you dote. Stay on the highest branches of the timber where you judge but cast your glance behind before another gives you a nudge. How dare you look upon the ones who's intentions are good. How I wish to cover your demeaning raven head with a hood. You snicker and you sneer, but nothing of worth do you bear? Sink your claws onto paper; let others judge you, if you dare. Glare until you've had your fill. Cry foul if you will not abate. No more will your dastardly disguised scorn upon me grate. Caw out your tale, as did Poe, of the striking rights you defend. You wanted the last bite of flesh; you got it. Now it's the end