Ode to the Indian Crow
Hello, my dear Indian crow,
I am thy admirer you must know.
To all and sundry, high or low,
Today publicly I wish to say so.
You, of shiny dark camouflage,
And of fluffy, silky azure visage,
Have an antiquated holy lineage,
That elicits my wordy homage.
Oft I espy your vivid acrobatics:
Call it swoops, dives or lifts,
Or pronounce it as artful tricks,
To me it is sheer magic.
Dear crow, you are a skilled scavenger:
For buffalo and horse, a master masseur;
An environmentalist that wards off danger
From locust and rust; a virtual park ranger!
In America, England and Canada,
In Ohio, Colchester, and Alberta,
I have resided. The crow I saw
There was obese and never did caw!
Even Shelley’s bird seemed a fantasy:
An undulating hazy winged fancy,
That he claimed he saw in Italy.
Was he drugged or at least tipsy?
So, don’t deny the virtues of Indian crow,
Sooner or later you will eat crow,
And as the crow flies will rush to
Sing paeans to my elegant hero.