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…
Any thoughts?