To A Grey Crow Poem by Francis Duggan

The night has shed it's pitch like cloak
A misty April day has broke
Songbirds are singing along the hedgerow
And I hear the caw of a grey crow.

There perched atop a sycamore
That stands not far from my back door
In feathers black and foggy gray
Is this bird who seem sad today

Come tell me what has been your sin
Where are the others of your kin
I wonder what makes you so sad
When all of the other birds seem glad?

Or could it be your best loved friend
Has somewhere met with a violent end
And could the bird have been your mate
That I saw dead by Rohan's gate?

Your kind of bird sheep farmers hate
I wonder what will be your fate?
Your kind cause many young lambs to die
By cruely plucking out their eye.

Are you that ruthless bird of prey
Who killed three lambs the other day?
Down at the farm of Edmond Rice
On your kind he has put a price.

In your kind there's a wicked streak
You take advantage of the weak
No mercy to the frail you show
Your's is the meanest breed of crow.

The owls and hawks I understand
These birds cannot live off of the land
To live a flesh eater must kill
Their craws with meat these birds must fill.

The owl a nocturnal bird of prey
Hunts by night and sleeps by day
A useful bird in many a way
The vermin rat and mouse it slay.

The hawk a bird of strength and skill
Even pigeons it can kill
But hawks do not commit the sin
Of killing newly born lambkin.

Grey crow by this time tomorrow
You may have no care or sorrow
By tomorrow you may be dead
Your body full of shotgun lead.

Some humans are much worse than you
Look at the dreadful things they do
They will use a gun or knife
For to take another human's life.

I watch this bird serene in flight
Slow, slowly fading from my sight
And I can only hope and pray
That it will not die the violent way.