A flock of crows from times quite old were building up their nest
A palace large of mud and stick upon which the flock would rest.
These clever things of beak and wing were wisest in the sky.
They'd some math they leaned from man, and their expectations; defy

With math they found, and logic sound, they worked upon their plan
To build a nest palace grand and large to hold their entire clan.
But there was a flaw that none saw, an error in their archive.
Somehow, every crow was taught that two and two is five.

A younger crow was picking seeds to add into their store.
They picked up two, added two and saw that two and two is four.
Against the words of elders old, they pondered what they saw.
And despite all that they'd been taught, they saw the fatal flaw.

They did what they must, and in a rush went to the elders of old.
"I see a flaw in the math that we use, in what we were told.
If you take two, and add on two, we're told it's five - no more!
But see, two seeds, and then two more, and I have only four!"

Elders jeered, some elders leered, all caw'd at the insolent thing.
The eldest came up and pecked at the youth, as he would a nestling.
"This wisdom old is what we were told from crows far smarter than you
trust us to say what's right and wrong, what's false, and what is true.

The youth grew hot; this plan was fraught with flaws that would cause death.
He would not sit and see his loved ones take their final breath.
with seeds in beak he tried to speak and show what he had learned.
It seemed the more he tried to help, the more that he was spurned.

After days at least it came to pass that the elders drove him out.
They scorned his words, his actions too, and raved about his doubt.
with peace at last their work went fast and their palace rose up tall.
None of them possessed a clue that their great work would fall.

After many days under the blaze of the searing, burning sun
The palace that they worked to build was now completely done.
They stood up proud and called out loud "Come see what we have built!
This nest of ours will never fall, or shake or quiver or tilt!"

from across the land came the clan of crows in numbers great.
They settled down into the nest and thus they sealed their fate.
As the last one perched there was a lurch, a shudder through the tree.
A stick, some mud, some fur, a stone was first to then come free.

their great work of art then came apart and fell in a mass of debris.
They clan tried to flee, but couldn't fly, couldn't hop, couldn't see.
In ruins bound they fell to the ground, racing towards their doom.
The nest they worked so hard to build in seconds became their tomb.

Many weeks past when then at last then young crow returned to their home.
They saw their clan dead on the ground, and now they were alone.
They did their best to put to rest they loved ones that were gone.
they worked all day and through the night, not done until the dawn.

Within the mud, when they were done, they wrote what words they had.
If they had spoke with care and tact, would this not be so bad?
Could logic known be carefully shown, and accepted in the lore?
Either way he placed his seeds in the mud, and two and two was four.


Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Chronos, in the year 1006 AF.