The Cunning Old Crow

On the limb of an oak sat a cunning old crow,
And chatted away with glee,
As he saw the old farmer go out to sow,
And he cried, “It’s all for me!
“Look, look, how he scatters his seeds around;
How wonderfully kind to the poor!
If he’d empty it down in a pile on the ground,
I could find it much better, I’m sure!
“I’ve learned all the tricks of this wonderful man,
Who has such regard for the crow
That he lays out his grounds in a regular plan,
And covers his corn in a row.
“He must have a very great fancy for me;
He tries to entrap me enough,
But I measure his distance as well as he,
And when he comes near, I’m off.”