An old crow, bored out of her mind,
Dressed before a mirror in peacock’s kind,
Decided she was clever, fair,
And thus should reign o’er forest air.
Admiring herself, she twirled around:
“I’ll be the grandest queen in town,
More dazzling than Carmen, brighter than firebird!
Oh, how I long for power, oh, how my heart’s stirred!
And to make my look even more divine,
I’ll need a favorite, tender and fine—
Then none before me could resist or flee.
A gentleman, a prince—whatever pleases me.
Bring me love! I’ll take a prince, if you please.”
But life, alas, is rarely smooth.
A boy wandered through the woods, aloof,
With a slingshot in hand. He looked and saw
Something strange perched on a tree, in awe.
He jumped, he shouted, made a fuss;
Not thinking twice, he took aim—and thus
The old crow, mirror and all, fell from her perch.
Oh, these children!
The fool kicked the hapless bird aside,
“Who needs her? What’s she good for?” he cried.
He left, but gathered the peacock feathers with care.
What a pity it ended so unfair.
And now, dear reader, a moral you must find—
Though it’s sad, you’ll need to keep in mind:
If you’re a crow, however you may dream,
Don’t caw of thrones—you’ll come to grief, it seems.