Crows Know

A crow suddenly swooped close to my sister’s hair,
as she walked down to the pond.
I could tell it gave her a scare,
and the attack sent her running home.

Later on, together, we took a hike
and saw a red fox running out of sight.
It was fleeing the same pesky crow
that hovered swooping over so low.

Standing at the pastures edge, I lifted my gun,
aiming carefully at the crow perched, in the tree top.
My shaky hands fired the bullet off it's mark.
My sister was glad, but I was not.

Even though I missed, I must say, deep inside,
I was relieved to see it fly.
Haven't seen it around till just today,
as I sat fishing down by my pond.

I heard a strange wing sound over head.
Looking up I realized it was the missed crow instead.
Some feathers just had to be missing.
For loud swishing was heard in the flapping.

The crow didn't stay long
when it saw me, though.
It probably thought I had a gun.
But they were just my fishing poles.

Poem by Linda Ann Foote 1994
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