Underneath the September clouds,

A dash of black is a murder of crows -

Above the river, amidst the crowds,

Upon the bridge. Yet no one knows.



Later in the day, the wide wood

would collapse, stealing a child.

Maybe two. Just as it should.

It’d leave a mark, black and wild.



And as lives go on, the murder

is slowly but surely, getting larger.

A boy. Struck by a girder.

A woman. Zapped by a charger.



So look not at the crows.

A murder was seen somewhere

in Russia. A man froze.

Now do not tread there.



On the eleventh, a murder of crows

was settled beside gloomy flowers,

In the wake of encroaching shadows,

Beneath the gaze of identical towers.

tej Singh

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/murder-of-crows-promote-yourself/