Are my friends
Nothing I like better than to go through
Life surrounded by glossy black crows
Perched on my shoulders, me
Looking like Saint Francis
Crow lady, people say
Crow goddess.
Now I know crows are smart
Maybe smarter than me
All linked together like they are
It’s no wonder that farmers call on
Jezum Crow when they swear.
In winter
I see crows walking on snow covered fields
In between corn stalk stubble
Full of self-importance
Acolytes who come
When I whistle.