The birds are circling overhead;

they see what I cannot.

Their God's-eye view grants them leave

to see what men have wrought.

Although we seem to grow and change,

and "civilization" spreads like disease,

the eyes of starving children proclaim

that self-interest's the god we appease.

We rage against any injustice

by loudly shaking our fists.

Alas, when it's action that's needed

most disappear in the mists.

And so the birds keep circling,

watching where people cannot.

Their God's-eye view grants them leave

to see what men have wrought.


A/N: The birds in the poem are crows, which is why I titled it "A Murder Overhead." A flock of crows is also called a murder of crows.