The crow hasn’t much to crow about
His spirit bleached to a dull white
All of Earth as he knew has changed
Not much left of his fight

His raucous songs were his pride
His friends and he ruled in a mob
He adapted well to city life
And went about his job

He often thinks of days gone by
When he was his blackest black
But even at his darkest
He was no match for man’s attack

His numbers slowly dwindled then
As man gained more foothold
He’s finding it hard to adjust
and craves for those days old

The air, the trees, and his old allies
Have changed and gone for good
Work now to reverse this if you care
Or you’ll lose another species in the neighbourhood.