To the Crow

The Treachery of Cuckoo


Thy beautiful throat

The poets have admired

And thy similes

The lovers have hired

Amused are they from ostentation

Do not know the real frets

As their feet are above terra firma

All above realities and the facts

Living in the world of ideas

Not in the facts and figures

Affected by the affectations

Not aware of the life’s rigors

Whose eggs the cuckoo gnaws at

The simple thing every body know

Whose offspring die before birth?

Is called the ugly crow

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