Pass, Crow

We've got noisy new visitors in the backyard, and there's caws for concern.

As an undergraduate English major, I studied the English poet Ted Hughes, who was married to Sylvia Plath at the time of her suicide. So we could hardly expect backslapping limericks à la Edward Lear. Instead we read “Crow,” a poem series that contained this memorable passage:

Who owns those scrawny little feet? Death.
Who owns this bristly scorched-loo…