The crow came to my window

requesting more stale bread, please.

There are two of them, really,

they must be mates.

I wonder at their loyalty.

One has feathers missing from his head.

Perhaps it was a valiant battle with a hawk,

protecting nestlings.

Mama fierce, I know this.

I’ve seen them soaring over my street,

a flock of crows.

(I looked up this word, flock, disdaining murder..)

These crows know everything

About my hood.