Poem for Hour Nineteen (19/24)

My mother is almost certainly a corvid.

If you look at the signs, I am sure it’s in her,

Right down to the genus and species.

See, she’s:

Smart as a tack,

She can solve complex problems without ever skipping a beat,

She’s got a very long memory,

And it goes back,

As far as any eye can see.

She’s cunning,

A survivor through and through,

She wears all black,

And has talent for planning creatively.

She loves to play,

And she thrives in the rain.

Keeps her beloved, tight family,

Close to her home-base tree.

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