A lone black bird has left today
He found no crumbs so flew away.
Another three left yesterday
And the day before six more had played.
One crow said that it’s been a week
Since crumbs had filled its little beak
The woman who would never speak
Had left to seek that old antique
With whom she came here every morn’
Upon whose hands her hands adorned
They sang to us, their passion born
Aloft on dried handfuls of corn.
They sang like birds I swear! It’s true!
From far and wide we young birds flew
For every morning we all knew
That crumbs would flow from both those two.
But no more crumbs have come our way
We waited hopefully for days
I am the last who chose to stay
But hungry, I now fly away.
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