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.