When I suspect the start of profundity
There is always the Crow to puncture the image.
As the street rally reaches its crescendo
I hear the Crow suggesting “it’s in the game”.
There is no better vehicle
For subduing oversized pride,
Positing an improbable restraint,
Than the sudden screech of a Crow.
For consistency of message,
And implacable directness,
With just a touch of humor,
God reached perfection with the Crow.
Had the Roman general, Gaius Marius, heard,
As he passed through the Forum’s arch,
Not a slave’s warning, but the Crows dismissal,
Moderation would have ruled the triumphant parade.
Not an especially likable fellow, the Crow,
With but one thought to air.
But he knows all is vanity,
And invites your sardonic agreement.
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