He marches along in regal splendor
Short legs goose-stepping to an unheard beat
His coat black and shiny
Fierce eyes gleaming with determination.
At times, he makes a sound
Perhaps to call others to arms
However, no one responds
And he is left to march alone.
At times he comes to a sudden stop
What could he be thinking?
Where are my other soldiers perhaps?
Again, he calls for reinforcements
But none ever come
For they have deserted him
So he is left again to march alone
In an unknown journey
That only he knows.
Suddenly, with no thoughts except his own
He takes wing and flies off into the sky
For that is what a crow/blackbird does
Until next, he lands to practice his march again.