The Earth

Written by: Don Schaeffer

Crows kept us up all night,
mass of them with their
chalky cries like laughter
masking their feelings from bone-hard
mouths. They are
fierce looking birds, black
cold-yellow beads in their
eye sockets.

Next morning we find
an adolescent crow
flopping around in the English
Ivy, trying to fly with
wings flattened against the leaves.
Over the day the youth
pulls itself into the
protection of the trees and bushes.

High up the family
cries and calls him,
the gathering clan
laugh calling, conversing
high in the branches. In their
bone bound faces, 
We are here.