HITCHCOCK'S CURSE

Everyone in our neighborhood knows

How it feels to be bothered by crows

That wake us up as early as four

With their deafening Caw, Caw, Caw.

That’s inconsiderate and very rude

But they’re hungry and looking for food.

They even patter on our bedroom roof.

Droppings on the eaves are enough proof.

They dig for earthworms in our garden.

For that there simply is no pardon.

We raise the worms to use at the lake

For trout, not crows, for goodness sake!

Tent caterpillars must not taste good.

I’m sure they would eat them if they could.

They unearth seeds in the garden beds.

From the deck I see their shiny heads.

I watch them spy from the neighbor’s tree.

They ‘re eyeing fledglings; the meal is free.

After our breakfast, they’re all around,

Checking out everything on the ground.

You see we eat on our deck out back.

Crows case the place, they know every crack

Between floorboards where crumbs may fall.

They miss nothing; they find them all.

They’re omnivorous and so smart

But I’m not soft, I have the heart

To drive them off when they steal a chick

From the robin’s brood they cruelly pick

Because it brings big tears to my eyes

To hear Mama Robin’s pleading cries.

They find some worms along the path

And wash them in the clean birdbath.

The mud must make them nauseate.

To that I can easily relate.

It’s amazing how they use their beak

To twist, to turn, to pry and to tweak.

On garbage day crows congregate,

Announcing the truck comes at eight.

I know they check each Friday’s paper

To find the zone in which to caper.

They must confer when in their nest

About the area they‘ll infest.

By evening they have had their fill.

Their crowing then becomes quite still.

Crows have no enemies, they’re not shy.

They attack bald eagles soaring high.

Too many crows, there’s barely a lull,

Should we consider trying to cull?

Or must we accept it’s Nature’s way:

Enjoy their antics every day,

Long for songbirds that once used to croon?

Theirs were such memorable sounds of June.

Should the crows become much worse,

We might call them “Hitchcock’s Curse.”