I KNOW WHY THE CROW WILL CAW

I know why the Crow will caw
—the crow will caw—
he will caw in Chicago next to his cousin, the Dove

I know why the Dove will coo
—the Dove will coo—
she will coo in New York City
where she searches for food
next to her companion, the Robin

and I know where the Robin flies,
why she sings, and why she cries
and when she falls
—when her wings cease to beat—
she sings no more
—no more will the Robin sing—

a caw is heard in the distance
and the Crow, he freezes
—his wings sputter to a stop—
and no more does he caw
just like the Robin, who sang

and I know where the Dove rests
—she rests in the park next to the bench—
and the worm escapes her, for her mouth is suddenly slack
and her wings will not wave
—she cannot leave the ground—
suddenly her coo is heard no more
just like the Crow, who cawed
and the Robin’s song
no more will they be heard

I know when it rains and pours
the Robin will offer her jacket—brown-speckled—
and the rain will fall
just like the Crow will caw
and the Dove will coo
rain will start to fall
and the Robin will offer her jacket

somewhere above she sings
and her jacket—brown-speckled—protects some
but many are hit
and then they fall
and no more might they sing
their coats—speckled are they—now thrown in the ring

they fight a battle
against an invincible foe,
yet they lost long ago,
so they throw in their jackets—speckled-jackets—
and, the Robin, she sings a song
—a prolific song—
and her jacket—brown-speckled—protects what it can,
as she sings from Heaven above.

–Chels

*This poem was published in a journal sold to raise money to help find a cure for the AIDS disease. The hyphenated areas are meant to be echoed when read aloud.