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The Raven lives up
in a tree,
He has his home, doesn't notice me,
He guards his turf and all he sees,
Above the ground is where he's free.
I'm like a
speck upon the ground,
And as I listen to the sound,
It's very crude and yet profound,
The raven's noise is all around.
The Raven lives up
in a tree,
He has his home, doesn't notice me,
And when he 'caws', the others flee,
He rules his space, up in a tree.
He's black as
night and dark as sin,
But that is on the outer skin,
For what lies there so deep within,
Is something that will make you grin.
You see, he loves
the things that shine,
He thinks those trinkets are divine,
And whether yours or whether mine,
To steal them is his great design.
Although he
doesn't notice me,
He steals my 'bling' and tries to flee,
And this one thing I'll guarantee,
He's always on a 'shopping spree'.
Just stay away from
this old Crow,
He lives above; we live below,
And here's a thing that you should know,
He loves to reap, but never sow.
The Raven lives up
in a tree,
He has his home, doesn't notice me,
He guards his turf and all he sees,
Above the ground is where he's free.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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