A noisy conversation from low branches can be heard -
a flood of caws, of clicks, of coos
in cacophony absurd

I can’t fathom the commotion - the precise which, or where or why
but I know for sure that they are there;
cries pierce the midnight sky

With a sense of beaky banter and some thumping of brash wings
As they huddle close together
do they plot to murder kings?

Are they conspiring, in black humour, to overturn our laws?
Using skilful crafty lookouts
hold cunning plans in wily claws?

But it doesn’t seem too subtle, all that screeching, all that din
As cold eyes gleam, to me it seems
there’s a game they’re trying to win

Maybe my mind is playing tricks, fed by the tardy hour
Perhaps they aim to keep us safe
Could be that’s within their power

All I know for certain is there’s passion in this breeze
But don’t ask for a translation -
for I’ve yet to learn Crowese

Prompt:
https://allpoetry.com/poem/13185014-Crowese-by-Ash-Slade