Crows mingle where the vegetation’s scarce;
they hang above eroded garbage dump.
A stench; a blackened, garbage mountain, fierce.
What God has given them this place to slump?
The rain revisits now a righteous rot
as fermentation stinks to heaven, high!
The crow ; he visits scene and screeching high,
he sings of rubbish, putrid treasure, scarce.
He flings his feet among the dying rot;
his nostrils now excited by the dump.
His wings will flutter; in an instant, slump.
Oh, loving is this forager so fierce!
As death is celebration, crows are fierce!
They utter cries to heaven, vented high.
They crash and dive into a righteous slump
and, grateful to their vegetation scarce,
they sing a song of glee above the dump.
Oh, land of stink; oh, land decayed with rot!
To each his own, these birds do love their rot;
their loyalty to land of stench is fierce.
Crows sing, and grateful for their city dump,
it’s here they bring their young to feast on high.
Above their vegetation, holy, scarce;
it’s here they teach their young to fly and slump.
Oh, reservoir of crude and putrid slump.
He caws, retrieve the flesh-corroded rot.
A treasured pleasure in the sun not scarce,
his love and loyalty is rightly fierce.
He thanks the gods for rain, it comes from high;
he thanks contaminated methane dump.
Crows love the liquefaction of the dump;
they feast where cells are in a dying slump.
There, desolation of all matter, high.
Yet, cry they will for masticated rot.
Oh, wondrous is the greenhouse gas so fierce
where death may turn to living! That is scarce.
The crow will slump in garbage that is scarce.
He favors rot that lives in city dump.
This bird flies high; his loyalty is fierce.
Day 13, April PAD, Writer’s Digest. Prompt: Create a Sestina poem.