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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The crows were getting ready to swoop, but what happened to steal their joy?

Submitted: August 02, 2012

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Submitted: August 02, 2012



Crows choice

On yonder hill there crows stand tall, the air is fresh as dew doth fall.

Daffodils sway as wind gathers speed, a man clearly injured lies at the bottom of the hill.

Motionless he makes no sound, took a serious tumble, vulnerable on the ground.

Crows fly in a circle to see the potential feast, but their debate is angry as they decide who should taste the meat.

Flies now invite themselves to the grand do, first there were several then there’s a crew.

The largest crow flaps his wings, he say’s nothing will stop him from flying down to the scene.

There a motionless man lays silent, still, as crows square up to each other.

They now want to go for the kill.

Dominance gets heavy over hills and plains, where the war of the birds seems to have got out of hand.

Lo and behold who should stir and moan, the man woke up but his movements were poor.

The largest crow took to flight to see the prey, and was besides himself that this food in his eyes, would get away.

There came a helicopter circling overhead, crows fly away a distance watching the man as he is rescued.



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