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_Crows_

Those crows.
Those big boistrous birds, with
Their great scabby beaks and
The feathers with that greasy sheen.

They land on our lawn, gracelessly;
That beak raised imperiously -
That ugly, discoloured beak - and
The smaller birds scatter.

The crows can strut supreme.
The breadcrumbs for the birds
They devour greedily,
Then they leave, when they've eaten it all.

The smaller birds settle again, but
There is no more bread:
The crows have taken it all.
The aggressor wins again.


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Spudley Strikes Again
www.BadPuns.com
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by Spudley





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