Crows In The Wind

Off go the crows from the roof,

A frantic flurry of black feathers and caws,

As the strong wind sweeps them away,

Their wings flapping wildly in the relentless gust.

They struggle to hold on,

But it's a futile battle against the forces of nature,

Like trying to grip onto a slippery oil slick,

Their clawed feet slipping and sliding.

The crows, gentlemen in their spottled-black coats,

Engage in a clumsy dance,

Their bodies swaying and tilting,

As if they're uncertain of their own balance.

Their movements are awkward and unsteady,

A comical sight to behold,

Yet underneath the humor,

Lies a sense of vulnerability and struggle.

They appear lost and disoriented,

As the wind buffets them mercilessly,

Their efforts to right themselves,

Only seem to exacerbate their plight.

There's a certain sadness in their plight,

As they battle against the elements,

A reminder of the fragility of life,

And the struggle to find stability in the midst of chaos.

It's a poignant display of the challenges of love,

How easily it can falter and fail,

Leaving us exposed and vulnerable,

In front of the unforgiving eyes of the world.

The crows in the strong wind,

Are a poignant allegory,

For the universal experience of love's trials,

And the unyielding forces that seek to topple us. ("Crows In The Wind") by Courtney Weaver Jr.