It's a lovely bright Sunday
evening I’m playing my
calm song when out of
the corner of my eye
there are aggressive
crows swooping down
onto the ground. robbing
my flute then pushing me
down to the forest floor,
as they turn their backs I
cease my opportunity to
sprint into my dark dreary
tree-house. the door slams
with a bang so loud it's
like a gunshot, feeling
petrified I peer out my
window to find the fleet
of crows soaring through
the air wishing I could too.
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