Flying

Flying

The
Boss
Crow
Sets
Forth
Each
Day,
Wrapped
In
Black
Satin,
To 
Make
His 
Foray
Into
The
Busy
Road
And
Goad
His
Fellows
To
Do 
More
To 
Increase
Their
Store
Of
What
Ever
They
Search
For.
He
Poses
On
My
Wall
Where
The
Gate
Abuts
And
Struts,
Then
Falls
To 
Seize
A
Crumb,
As
Close
To
Me
As 
He 
Will
Come.
He
Rises
In
His
Silken
Cape,
A
Black
Feathered
Shape
Untethered,
Flies
Up
To 
The
Skies
And
The
Power
Line, 
Preens
In
The
Sunshine,
Grips
With 
His
Claws
And
Loudly 
Caws,
Lord
Of 
The
Air, 
Without
A 
Human 
Care.