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Poem

Early mornings, bright ice  blues as life wakens 
birds  and squirrels  scratching for seeds and nuts
black crows pound at the tree or wait for cars to drive by
crushing the hardest nuts clever crows 
now winter’s broken their little dance, the nuts are gone
and three black crows complain each early morning
where they remain on the fence by their now bare tree
they’ve learned to wait for me watching the window
until I feel their eyes staring at me scratching at the post
demanding their walnut tree’s meaty nuts, now in jars
the tree has three aging leaves slowly curling
dry brown-grey soon to fall 
but three black crows do not leave the fence
until I throw nuts and corn on their rail obtaining quiet acceptance
each reaches for a kernal to hold in their long beak
with sparkling black eyes staring approval— a quick squawk 
they disappear into the large pines across the street
those same three creatures each morning appear
on my fence post near the steamy kitchen window
waiting to see if I am still here.

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