Crows

The crows, they know me very well,
As I walk to the place they dwell,
An uproar such as never heard,
Made by the wings of many bird,
I leave the sunlit field of wheat,
Into the trees I slowly sweep,
I see them there, perched on branches,
Their landings little avalanches,
By now we all know that it’s time,
A thousand orange eyes on mine,
Wind from their wings make it colder,
They land, clawed feet upon my shoulder,
I stroke their feathers, smooth and black,
Their voices shout, their sharp beaks clack,
I feed them berries from my pocket,
One pecks forcefully at my locket,
Then they take off, so suddenly,
Down a path, it’s me they lead,
To their homes, and to their nests,
Inside them, many eggs do rest,
I weave my hand and cast my spell,
Upon the eggs to keep them well,
“Any who cause harm to these,
Will pay dearly in pain and pleas”,
Next day a lumberjack trod on a egg,
Then he fell down a hill and broke his leg