Murder, They Crowed

They are jubilant, those
dark-garbed winged Ninjas
of the forest steeples,
buoyant over their stealth
prowess, anticipating gains
furtively snatched from under
the very territory their rivals
claim as their entitled own.

Crowing triumphantly, they
spread sharp black wings
in a fury of flight, raucously
taunting, calling, gathering
in that famous formation, the
very convocation of conspiracy
minded mobs of sinister intent.

Clever, with their dark, intent
beady eyes missing nothing
of note that passes in the
forest. If there is advantage
to be had, they reason, why
not for them, as they gainfully
appropriate peanut caches.

Their ear-shuddering victory
shout-outs and piercing caws
collectively orchestrated to a
veritable din follows our trail
through the spring woods, as
they fly in spurts from tree to
tree, await deposit and seize the
moment, extracting treasure.