I hear your rasping,
 
crow in my neighbor’s oak tree—
 
or is it the wind?

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What would you do, crow,
 
without this white butterfly
 
for your midday snack?

 
 
 

Overcast morning—
 
the wings of the crow turn grey
 
with a film of mist.

 
 
 

Four days past Easter
 
a crow on the backyard fence
 
mocks me as I mow.

 
 
 

From the topmost branch
 
of my neighbor’s maple tree
 
a crow jeers at me.

 
 
 

Rain, relentless rain!
 
A crow high in the oak tree
 
curses every drop.

 
 
 

From my neighbor’s oak
 
a crow with a strident voice
 
keeps harassing me.