The crow swoops, beak open

and beady eyes gleaming;

with a caw – loud, harsh –

she descends, smug,

confident in her position.

But she has a tell.

A tell? A tell? Pray, tell

what? – Well, despite

this self-belief, this vocal

potency (and widespread wings

of feather ebony), with that very 

voice of volumous self-pleasure

the crow is, in fact, deceived.

For, the louder this sly bird

cries out, we know – we smile –

she’s up to some new, some dark

and devious endeavour…

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