The Crows

Why are all these crows here? No one really knows, They just show up here, And sit there all day, Even when it snows, You can hear the squawks, From far away, They sit and watch your, Every move with their, Beady little black eyes, Like a hawk, They take to the skies, In a mass of shiny black wings, The crows.... Why are they here? Who knows? They perch on power lines, In long black rows, Of shiny feathers, Sometimes silent, Sometimes violent, But they always kick up a giant ruckus, Where ever they go...