A little bit, a cemetery heat
Black crow on the lawn
Perpendicular feathers show
Some type of inconsistency
Has grounded the poor soul
And the poet crow bops along
Seeming to worry about
Perhaps for the first time
Agility that may not come
Just as she may not eat
Just as she may never taste
The sweet of writing it all down
The pure zen of adaptation
See, the poet crow is a crippled bird
The poet crow is a haunted hound
The poet crow, just a tortured background doo-wopper
Always coming in too early or too late