Caw, caw, caw, caw, caw.
I hear the crow
Sitting on a lightpost
On a mountain trail—
It's mocking the racers
Who skid down ice-coated slivers of ground.
It's a very rude crow.
It likes making fun of those below it,
Calling, "caw! I am the one
Who sits on my light post,
Who determines whether the light goes on or not—
I am the one
Who determines whether you see
In the night which is as black as my feathers!"
Of course, it isn't the one who determines such things,
But perhaps it's best to let it think that it is,
Lest we make it feel bad about its lonely existence
As it mocks the racers below the light post.
(Read the sequel, The Crow on the Tree)