A story,nonetheless about a crow.
Hopping branches,raving with thirst and hunger,
Ravenous,the raven's raucous,ranting desperation and anger.
The wood,shadowed by trees kissing the sky, breathes calm,
But the crow circles over it,shredding it to pieces,the air warm,
The dry stony eyes roving, to catch sight of water,if not a bite.
Sees it's tribe,encircling,perhaps a cadaver,veiled from the sight.
Swoops down and becomes one with the crowd 'murderous',
Has it's fill and takes wings....maybe for another carcass?
Chandni.
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