My Murder of Crows 

My flock was flawed from the very start 
More strategy perhaps than heart 
We sheltered in a brick and mortar nest  
With little instruction, we were a holy mess 
 
  
So I comb these skies for a murder of crows 
And I know I’ll need some time to build my own 
Seeds on the sill, waiting for a shiny stone 
  
There’s a timid beacon, an ever- crowded sky 
It calls to the birds that still wonder why 
Volume was never gonna be 
Our murder’s, our murder’s marquee 
  
So we comb these skies for our murder of crows 
We constantly leave but we never ever really go 
Seeds on the sill, always room for more 
  
I remember back to that very first home 
The starter’s whistle for an extra bone 
What on earth did any of us know 
About a real murder, murder of crows