That crow is grooving again, I see him
through my window,
wings a flapping,
beak a borking, while caws
of delight shatter the peaceful
idyll of my little pokey office.

How is he not falling off the branches?
he is literally spinning
on his back like a turtle
playing spin the bottle with
itself, though it is wild.

Some other crows are having a watch,
peeking from behind leaves
cautiously entertained by
a crow that gives no cares,
except that wicked disco beat.