The Crow by John Barrows, read for LibraVox.org by Alan Drake of Long Branch, New Jersey. 1. My friend and neighbor through the year, self-appointed overseer of my crops of fruit and grain, of my woods and furrowed plain, claimed thy tidings right and left. I shall never call it theft.
Nature wisely made the law and I fail to find a flaw in thy title to the earth and all that holds of any worth. I like thy self-complacent air. I like thy ways so free from care. Thy landlord stroll about my fields, quickly noting what each yields.
Thy cordly mean and bearing bold, as if thy claim were bought with gold. Thy floating shape against the sky, when day is a calm and clouds are high. Thy thrifty flight, air rise of sun, thy homing glance when day is done. Hughes protective are not thine, so sleek thy coat each quilt a shine.
Diamond black to end of toe, thy counterpoint the crystal snow. 2. Never a plaintive nor appealing, quite at home when thou art stealing, always groomed to tip of feather, calm and trim in every weather. Walk an owl in treetop hiding, feel the shame of thy deriding, not escapes thy observation, none but dread thy accusation.
3. Hunters, prowlers, woodland lovers vainly seek the leafy covers, noisy, scheming and predacious, with demeanor almost gracious, doured with leisure, void of hurry, void of fuss and void of worry. Embanded robinhood, judge and jury of the wood, or captain kid of sable quill hiding treasures in the hill. Nature made thee for each season, gave thee wit for ample reason, good crow wit that's always burnished like the coat her hair has furnished.
May thy numbers nare diminish, how be friendly to life's finish, may I never cease to meet thee, may I never have to eat thee, and mayest thou never have to fare, so that thou play us the part of a scarecrow. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.