The crows gather as the sun rises

Outside my window.

Black specks in the branches

Hanging over the house

There is one in particular

Who, once starts,

Doesn’t stop.

To me, lying in bed,

It sounds as though

He argues with

All the others

In the yard.

It is harsh and guttural

And soul-jarring.

Making my heart

Race,

When all I long

To do

Is sleep.