Is the call of a crow a beautiful or a sad song?

Never wondered until when I began singing along!

With my voice still weary, my eyes closed, from the night before,

Head little heavy, but bobbing to the tune of the crow!

I grabbed my shoes, ran outside, met my friend perched on the porch.

Seeing through yesteryears' blind faith, having faith in my friend

Alone. His wings spread, his beak as bright as a lit up torch.

Beacon of hope, only visitor, till pandemic's end.

Here we are, writing poems, ‘bout a bird we used to know.

Planting hope in hourglass' sand, rewriting our old fables

For we’ve come far, but we still have much to learn, much to grow,

Rediscovering, child-like, new patterns in old marbles.

And as the end is near, one must wonder, one must seek,

What lesson do stinging nettles attempt to teach?