Underneath the September clouds,
A dash of black is a murder of crows -
Above the river, amidst the crowds,
Upon the bridge. Yet no one knows.
Later in the day, the wide wood
would collapse, stealing a child.
Maybe two. Just as it should.
It’d leave a mark, black and wild.
And as lives go on, the murder
is slowly but surely, getting larger.
A boy. Struck by a girder.
A woman. Zapped by a charger.
So look not at the crows.
A murder was seen somewhere
in Russia. A man froze.
Now do not tread there.
On the eleventh, a murder of crows
was settled beside gloomy flowers,
In the wake of encroaching shadows,
Beneath the gaze of identical towers.
tej Singh
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/murder-of-crows-promote-yourself/
