Black shapes against a sunrise sky,
Colony of crows is flying by.
Hoarse cawing comes roughly on the breeze
As their dark wingtips skim above the trees.
Sharp eyes glare fiercely down at us
As the crow-clan seems to discuss
If we will leave our ripe corn field
And let them have its golden yield.
Resounding 'Crack!' And down a black bird falls
And all the rest fly off with frightened calls.
Our precious gold is safe for one more day,
The sun comes up as robbers wing away.