The Crow
A fat and eerie
Dark and dreary
Blue-eyed crow named Dearie
Sang the song of life
And added a little strife
As it perched on the blade of a knife.
Who can say,
Even in our day,
What made the crow this way?
It sang the song
And it wasn't long
Before everyone muttered along.
Conformity, you see,
Had stung us like a bee
Individuality was the fee.
We paid our dues
Like we had no clue
What this would d
It ruined your mind;
Now we're in a bind
Our thoughts undermined (Your precious resource mined!)
Like a mindless herd
We followed a bird
All because a song we heard.
This poem is about:
Our world