A Crow Sings of Sorrow I'm the voice of calumny croaked a crow and am a captive of my own sorrow The sky

that grew shadowy came so close It clipped my feather, I cried out so loud That somehow out of me this noise now roars Though I once happy crowed and crowed proud Now I am two halves of my self broken The thunder I reveal in my terror It is not what I am nor was made for But to prattle with hawks, pheasants, roosters and clamor for the cause of tomorrow that it may live and always be hallowed but many are the ruses of horrors that have squandered and brought into squalor