Underneath the September clouds, <br /> <br />A dash of black is a murder of crows - <br /> <br />Above the river, amidst the crowds, <br /> <br />Upon the bridge. Yet no one knows. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />Later in the day, the wide wood <br /> <br />would collapse, stealing a child. <br /> <br />Maybe two. Just as it should. <br /> <br />It’d leave a mark, black and wild. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />And as lives go on, the murder <br /> <br />is slowly but surely, getting larger. <br /> <br />A boy. Struck by a girder. <br /> <br />A woman. Zapped by a charger. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />So look not at the crows. <br /> <br />A murder was seen somewhere <br /> <br />in Russia. A man froze. <br /> <br />Now do not tread there. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />On the eleventh, a murder of crows <br /> <br />was settled beside gloomy flowers, <br /> <br />In the wake of encroaching shadows, <br /> <br />Beneath the gaze of identical towers.<br /><br />tej Singh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/murder-of-crows-promote-yourself/
