The crows chant their morning song.
It’s the heralding of a new day.
The darkness seems to wander away
As the black birds spread their wings
And open their black beaks
To welcome the first ray of Dawn.
Hear their cacophony!
The sound of a saw
Then cut off, after a syllable,
Uttered and broken,
But completing its duty.
Being its nature.
Oh! A sparrow chirped!
A bright chirp! A little chirp!
Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp.
But the Dawn
Belongs to the crows.
Darkness has found a way to live on.