A crow,
a beautiful crow,
as elegant and as black as night,
with fast eyes it rapidly surveys the world before it,
as it sits upon a fence post,
gazing at the sunrise,
warming its bones as it looks to fly.
How calm it seems,
and I wonder about what it dreams at night,
and I wonder in the day where it will go,
when the sky is so blue and so full of light,
as it flies into the air and it hovers upon the breeze,
oh, what a view it must be,
what a view it must be,
and what a delight it is to me,
as it glides so gently across the sky,
in such genteel movements,
there one moment,
and then gone quickly past in the blink of an eye.