Anytime the crows are singing,
The fields are full and barely clinging
To their ripened form.
'Tis when breath is full of flavor
Of all that's good to seek and savor
When the season's warm.
When spirit's at a higher station
Held there by shared expectation
Of the joyful throng
That sings a bold and gleeful chorus
No more able to see what's before us
Than a crow can sing a song.