The Foxed Crow

Bent double, wrinkled and frail,
Sat a dear old woman.
Humming old tunes to herself,
She lighted up the oven.

She then started frying wadas
As the oil began to pop.
Nearby stood a gnarled up tree
With a hungry crow on top.

Down swooped the hungry crow,
Picked up the crispy food,
Up and up he flew away
With wada both fresh and good.

He found himself a kingly spot
A place both warm and cool,
He picked his ill-earned trophy up,
His beak all reeked with drool.

Yellow, crispy and golden brown,
Like a glorious tropical sunset,
The wada, so juicy and so round,
Tasted ever so perfect.

He then saw a bushy tail,
A fox was he weary of,
Greedy things or so he thought
They deserved to be told off.

The crow gave him a defiant glance,
But then fox all starving,
Saw, instead, the golden feast
Succulent and inviting.

"Oh how I wish I find such food,
Oh how my tummy growls",
So thought the fox with a hungry eye
And then began to prowl.

"My Dear Crow, my bosom friend,
Don't you see me so?
So thin and weak and frail and pained
Please help me my lovely crow"

"Off with you, you lousy fool,
Can't you see it's mine?
I stole it all so fair and square,
Thou shalt eat that's thine"

"You mistook me my dearest crow,
I crave not for your food,
Please just tell me where to find
Wadas so tasty and good"

"No, never, you servile fox
I shall not enlighten
For it is of an old lady's craft
Not meant for creatures rotten"

"Rotten am I?" the fox thought,
"A lesson shall I teach,
For all your sharp and forked up tongue,
Humility is what I preach"

"All I need now is a plan,
A crow I'll have to tame,
And bring his ever proud beak down,
And smear his face with shame"

He sought up to the haughty bird,
With his mind all sly,
He said it in his most glib voice,
Through his teeth he lied.

"I'm not angry, nor offended,
Even though you speak,
For so lovely is thy voice
Like water flowing bleak"

"Bah! Humbug!" said the heartless crow,
"I shall never cave,
For flattery so naked and glib,
It sickens me you knave!"

"There again, you tell me off,
But then, I do not mind,
For, to hear a voice so clear and deep,
Your harsh words just seem too kind"

"You're gifted with the way of words,
You speak like poets of yore,
But for flattery so naked and glib,
I shalt bow no more"

"Oh, but, how winsome you sound,
heavenly and surreal,
Like the Spirits of Gods unbound,
Misty and ethereal.

Your fame shall spread so far and wide,
Odes shall they compose,
That tells the tale of a stout young bird,
With the voice of the reddest rose"

This was too much for the bird,
He could no longer weather,
He caved in, fell into his trap,
Hook, line and sinker.

"Do you really think so my friend?
Is your good claim true?"
"Of course it is, my comely mate,
Voices like yours are few"

"I'm flatterred, my dear bosom pal,
I ever so truly am,
I'd love to pay for your kind words,
with whatever I can"

"Oh no, Oh no, My generous friend,
I do yearn for nothing,
But to hear this divine voice,
Just a song to sing"

He then delivered in his best tone,
Mozart and Beethoven wept,
So did the fox, but had no choice,
And so off he appeared swept.

An off-pitched crow shattered the calm,
Hairs did stand on end,
He cooed and cawed and carried on,
Till the sins in hell all cringed.

As he reached the highest note,
Down fell his meal,
Gravity, the mother of cruelty,
pulled it down with zeal.

"Alas, Alas my two faced friend,
A lesson did I teach,
How can any of a sane mind,
Appreciate that screech?"

"Thou foul, sly, conniving knave
How could you lie so?
You've wounded me, four-legged devil,
Have you no heart, no soul?"

"I do, I do, my dearest fool,
I have all that you don't,
Can't you help a fellow being?
Or is it that you won't?"

And so he took the bird's prized food,
He did feast upon it all right,
The crow, a hurt and sorrowed pride,
cursed the fox with spite.