My early morning stroll cajoled,
By sudden noises, Twas' a caw arose,
Amidst the elms above,
Wherein the crows all cackled, babbled,
As they dabbled twixt the branches to and fro,

The prose cacophonous, innocuous, yet raucous in their many searing queries,
Eerie jeers and dreary leering,
God, those awful squawks in screaming series sending swift the flock,
Aloft about the sleepy suburb block,

"It's here he'll walk" they bawked,
In warning talks amongst themselves,
Each like a sentry, statuesque and staring, sooty specks of midnight feathers glaring,
Daring eyes, at best, bequest to scare me,

Verily annoyed, I hastened pace,
Intent then to escape their stringent serenades,
To fast reclaim the dawntime serendipity I'd gained,
Before the awful raid,
To my dismay, all peace bereft, they landed to my left as if to say,

"Away, away,"

Perhaps the cackling laughs are less malicious,
Vicious? No, just playful though?
But, nay, I say, for even so, I'm understandably seditious,
Wary of the avaricious crows who flittered to and fro, like little devils thrown,

I begged, implored them, "Leave me be!" ,
Though they ignored my every plea,
Until I reached the upper street,
I seethed, but finally was free from all their screeching agonies,

Fatigued, relieved, I closed my eyes and breathed in deep,
Then turned around, whispered these words: 

'Fuck you stupid city birds.'