Cassius Crow

Cassius Crow Cassius Crow was a big old bird with shiny feathers, long and black. his family members, near and dear jawed at each other - clackity clack. Cassius' flock nested in a wood full of pine from old Monterey and as far as old Cassius knew they'd dwelt there forever and a day. He and his kin loved to launch and mount the unbounded sky, wheeling and swooping and soaring, tail chasing in full throated cry. Up and up they would gaily flap, climbing the steep ladder of the sky, then tightly fold their satin wings and drop like a stone in a dive. 'Round and 'round in the firmament they would cavort above the sward while all around the periphery uncles and cousins stood the guard. Once a sassy little Jay bird began reciting verse from Poe, Cassius snidely croaked his retort, "You don't know a raven from a crow." And in the spring when Robin came Hippity hopping around the flock, And acting like his poop didn't stink, Cassius gibed, "Crows don't hop. We walk." They would gobble up all the grain, melons and eggs and most the rest, but their sharp-eyed hunger also claimed grasshoppers, worms, and lots of pests. Cassius Crow was a sanguine bird that always knew the score, and one word he would never croak was the ill-fated "Nevermore"