When the moon goes down and the sun shines again,
my slumber is disturbed by crows in reign

Their raucous calls, begin at dawns
when the land is still in rest.

Do they bay at the sun like wolves at the moon?
Is this some strange, cruel test?

Their pretty feathers and funny endeavors
almost give them a pass.

But their sunrise overture is too long to endure

And their tunes are often times
quite crass.


Grim, 2024