Perched up on the telephone pole,
sits a quiet, lonely soul.
Waiting, watching silently,
before swooping down violently.
In this town, there’s no lost-and-found
“Crow” picks up goodies dropped on the ground.
Coins, and jewels that folks may drop,
he can see it all from way up top.
Collecting and scavenging, keeping a stash
then off to the “Crow Bar” to spend his cash.
Just a common thief, a lonely birder,
working alone, avoiding things like murder.
First to the street before the sweepers,
finders keepers, losers weepers.
Illustration Friday: “Lonely”