The Cursed Crow


The crow sat on the thin, dry branch, lonely, morose, listless, waiting

For the pain to subside, for someone to see him for who he was, without hating

Every day he would sit at the same spot, from dawn till late at night

But they would come, they would look at him, and be repulsed at his mere sight

For you see, dear readers, the crow was not just ‘regular crow’ ugly, but worse

His body was covered with pus-filled wounds, all due to a wicked witch’s curse

He had been a handsome prince once, though you would not believe it if you saw him now

And had spurned the advances of the witch, going as far as to call her a fat cow

Now hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, this much we all know

But a scorned witch is even more dangerous, don’t say later that…

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