The owl says to the crow
“How do you do it? You know, go
out when the sky is bright, and everyone
can see you?”
The crow swallows something,
maybe a worm,
maybe a ring,
and says
“We’re not so different, you and I.
Harbingers of death,
fierce and intelligent,
loved by the quirky
and the crafty alike.
I know the fastest routes to travel,
or so they say;
‘as the crow flies’
is the best way.
But they never liken themselves to me;
this is an honor
saved for you and your habits.
I’ve heard many proclaim
‘I’m a night owl’
without blinking.”
The owl ruffles its feathers
and preens its chest.
It takes off without a word,
but the crow is pretty sure
there was a gleam in its eye.