A gaggle of crows,
gathering in the dawn's early mist
Endeavor to blow,
making beeline for their jubilant tryst.
Neither humble nor modest,
their early morning carousal about to begin;
Not drunken but noisy,
do babble and bluster much to my chagrin.
Their cackle and riot
form cluster to muster parade to their daily feast.
Whooping and boasting
revelry unhinged as seemed to an earthly bound beast.
To my wondering amusement
the affair in the heavenly trees seems to me
To vauntingly burst forth
to a gurgling tear and divert into swaggering glee
The light breaks forth smoothly
the waining of squawking whooping crows
Ever disbanding so swiftly
my amusement now done, yet where do they go?