The other crows were hopeless,
As the crow was lying there, lifeless.
Around it, the other crows formed,
A circle, where they mourned.
To them, friend's death was known,
In grief, their tiny head, bown.
"I have nothing to do with it"
I thought,
Looking down at the street.
Even crows know friendship,
And value relationship.
Crows are amazing flying creatures,
Intelligence, their special feature.
But for them, there is so much hate,
Nothing, but their poor fate.
That day,
The crows were in very pain.
Like a stain,
Will remain their friend's death,
Till their last breath.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Crow
PoetryThis is a poem, in which I turned my experience of seeing a crow laying dead on wet street after a heavy rainfall, into words, in memory of that crow.
