A Council of Crows
Soft pink streaks form across the sky,
No wind stirs this slumbering morn,
The scent of dew floats on the mists,
The world stretching, yawning, re-awakening anew.
All is quiet in the dark forest deep
The clearing still in slumber sleeps,
Before the creatures of the wood awake,
Not a sound, even a hushed breath makes.
Lighter-light begins to crawl, creeping
Forth from the horizon low,
To chase the darkness across the sky
Spreading light where shadows hide.
Noise from the clearing you begin to hear
As dappled light plays hide and seek,
Creatures stir as tummies grumble
The young demand their hunger slaked.
The clearing comes alive as day creatures’ rise
The Crows begin to circle on high
Cawing and calling they announce their intentions,
To bring one and all, too many to mention.
The Council of Crows was then brought to order,
The members of six all perched in a row
To discuss business urgent - an all quiet is called,
For silence is needed when it’s time for the vote.
The first Crow then opens his beak and he speaks,
Of feathers so black they shimmer with blue,
Of his voice that’s oh so velvety smooth,
Of his beauty and wisdom he is quite certain,
Surpasses all others, no one would dispute him.
At first, all was quiet, no one utters a sound
As the Crows’ words floated down to the ground,
For no one was certain they’d heard correctly
The Crows’ motion he had delivered so deftly.
No second was heard as all looked around
Wondering who’ll dare disagree with the Crows proclamation
That he was the wisest, the blackest and best to be found.
The chipmunk and squirrels began to chatter and moan,
And the birds and the bees flapped and buzzed in a drone,
The deer and the bear loudly snorted and stared,
While the skunk’s turned their backs with their tales in the air.
As the council sat waiting, the noise level rose,
The protest was growing, as you would suppose,
To deafening heights the decibels climbed,
The clearing erupting in sounds of wartime.
No matter how long the Crows tried to hush,
The clamoring and squawking, of even the Thrush,
No one would listen to the call, “Come to order!”,
As everyone present could not believe the horror.
Who did these Crows think that they were?
Proclaiming that they the most perfect creature by far,
Than all other creatures gathered in the deep forest dark,
Their boasting and bragging seemed quite a lark.
The noise continued all through the day,
The Crows giving up, now flown away,
But the debate continued down on the ground,
As more creatures gathered from all around.
Each faction believing that they were correct,
In believing that they were the popular sect,
For being declared the wisest and best,
Than all other creatures called on by behest.
The skies purple tones herald impending night,
As the night creatures stirred in the gloaming light,
And all the day walkers tire and yawn,
As their bedtime approaches before the next dawn.
What’s left of the Council will now soon retire,
For the night and the shadow have crept, the day to expire.
The Owls begin to circle on high.
While the day creatures sing their night lullabies,
And the Owl Council calls all night creatures nigh.
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This Poems Story
The title had been rolling around in my head for quite sometime while contemplating a story in a children's book. I wasn't sure what it would be about, until I began to write it.