Crows

The crows they sigh and caw for me
They fly above for all to see
A strange remorse is in their eyes
They mourn the sadness and demise
Gather, gather, they build their nest
Taking some, but leaving the rest
A group of crows is called a murder
But the beautiful bird, have you heard her?
For if you did, you would believe
In a thing called peace, the nests they weave
To some it's a screech
To others a preach
But for me it's a song
That can undo a wrong
They lurk up high
And look with a sigh
Oh, the human race
Oh, the strange looking face
Of a hume lying dead
Our families can be fed
Beak to the eye
We thank those who die
The corpses that feed
When I refuse to eat seed.