Perched high over his domain upon an old dry stone wall, 
the wise old crow surveys his valley, 
feathers worn but resilient, 
eyes gleaming with the weight of years. 
He watches seasons turn, 
each colour a memory, 
each gust of wind a lesson learned, 
the rain, sunshine and the storms, 
woven into the fabric of his days. 
He recalls the joys, the losses,
the journeys taken, the skies crossed, 
the fleeting moments of beauty, 
that linger long after they’ve gone. 
He knows the value of experience, 
the strength found in letting go, 
and the wisdom that grows 
in the quiet spaces between the chaos. 
In his gaze, there is hope, 
a gentle reminder that life flows, 
like the river winding through the valley, 
carrying stories, rich and alive, 
as he spreads his wings, 
ready to soar once more.