22 July 2012
Circling in a midnight sky, In arching movements crows do fly, Screeching, soaring: ugly sound, Then plummet, dive towards the ground.
An angry swarm like angry bees, Hurtling in and out of trees, Bullets of feathers and glinting eyes, Making a racket as the sunset dies.
Make a ring of dark feathers, The ground below: deflowered heathers, The crows are angered on this night, They'll crow and scream until it's light.
The Crows. • Opuss № I