My Crow’s Poetry
Crawford the crow
Usually spoke with Cawtion
But, sometimes he was
His poems, of which there were many, were scrawled upon
Scraps of paper that he found
When rooting around for his food.
One of his best was a poem
He wrote one Saturday in January
When he’d just been thrown a measly crust
It was okay, but tasted of dust
But, then a chunk of cake came towards
And in his mind it deserved awards
Not that Crawford should have chocolate cake to eat
But, just this once, as a treat.
His poem was:
Cake, I like your style
Your taste is worth my while
And though my tummy may soon ache
I’d like to say I loved you, cake.
Short and sweet it was
Which as the crow flies is the best way,