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,

Their prose cacophonous, 
Innocuous, yet raucous in their many searing queries,
Eerie jeers and dreary leering,
My God, those awful squawks in screaming series, sending swift the flock,
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, and peace bereft, they landed to my left as if to say,

"Away, away,"

Perhaps their cackling laughs are less malicious,
Vicious? No. Just playful, though?
Ha! Nay, I say, for even so, I'm understandably seditious,
Wary of the avaricious crows, who flitter 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 all you shitty, city birds.'