A Murder of Crows

In the early morning Dawn
A Murder of Crows
Squawked–no, cried–from the
Tops of Competing Trees
For what Purpose?
To what End?

Out of the corner of my eye
A Businessman
Furiously–no, frantically–pedaled By
Shielded only by a gray banker’s suit and Helmet
For what Purpose?
To what End?

High Overhead
A Helicopter
Hovered–no, hung–Searching,
Seeking for something, Anything.
For what Purpose?
To what End?

Under the Protective Scent
Of an urban pine Tree
A breeze replied–no, answered–
“Maybe, the mystery
Isn’t yours to Know.
Maybe you must live the Mystery.”

(Note: This poem was inspired by an early morning “walk in wonder.”)