To A Crow Poem by Robert Burns Wilson

BOLD, amiable, ebon outlaw, grave and wise!
For many a good green year hast thou withstood—
By dangerous, planted field and haunted wood—
All the devices of thine enemies,
Gleaning thy grudgëd bread with watchful eyes
And self-relying soul. Come ill or good,
Blithe days thou see’st, thou feathered Robin Hood!
Thou mak’st a jest of farm-land boundaries.
Take all thou may’st, and never count it crime
To rob the greatest robber of the earth,
Weak-visioned, dull, self-lauding man, whose worth
Is in his own esteem. Bide thou thy time;
Thou know’st far more of Nature’s lore than he,
And her wide lap shall still provide for thee.