The Crow

Each day, a crow sits by my window.

Each day, that crow flies away.

Sometimes, I wonder where it goes.

Sometimes, I wish it will stay.

Does it fly the day, until the moon rises?

Does it have family to which it will go?

Does it chirp away? Does it sing and play,

While I sit in my room all alone?

Or is it as troubled as I am?

Maybe this crow’s full of woe.

So I’ll leave my window open

With a welcome unspoken

And hope it will not fly away.