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.