The Tale of Crow

The Tale of Crow

Long ago, as everyone knows
Lived a little black bird with little black toes.
From her head all the way down to her feet
Was the blackest little bird that you’d ever meet.
(Her name, I’m sure you want to know:
Was little like her: they called her “Crow.”)
The reason that she was so black
From back to front, from front to back
Was so repulsive, golly gosh--
She quite refused to take a wash!
Mother Crow and Father Crow
Insisted: “Girl, you have to go!”
But she did not, she simply grinned
And turned around, and flapped her wings.
Up there she wandered, flying high
Leaving ashes on the sky.
The clouds had all begun to cough
Even the winds were rather put off.
And they said “Look here, you silly bird,”
“We’re not too sure that you have heard,”
“But up here things are clear and fair.”
“You’re mucking up our lovely air!”
Crow was not the caring sort,
And fluttered off with quite a snort
Spreading her filth all the while
Cawing through her birdy smile.
The moon began to slowly rise
So too did the king of skies
A stately man, with long white hair
That seemed to grow from everywhere
His ears, his nose, his head, his chin
But little Crow came crashing in.
Now Mr. King was rather old,
And to be honest, truth be told,
His mind was working kind of slow
There are things gone he used to know.
He looked at little Crow, and said:
“By Jove! By James! I’ve lost my head!”
“The black’s not fastened on quite right!”
“I’ll fix you now, this very night.”
And with a wrinkled finger raised
Deep into Crow’s black eyes he gazed
Within a moment, nothing more
She was different than times before.
Every feather, tip to tip
Was black--the kind that didn’t drip
Or flutter through the morning sky
She's black as black, to any eye.
And from this day so was dear Crow
So children, listen, need to know:
If you don’t want to look like soot
Just wash yourself, from head to foot.