The Crow, by Bobby Warner

It’s November, and we had one frost, and we might get snow tonight. That crow is still out in the garden, perched on a fence post, looking like it’s winking at me.

I told Mama about the crow, and she says to just ignore it. But I can’t. It’s there when I get up, when I go to school, when I come home, when I go to bed. It just keeps looking at me, and laughing, I think.

That hateful old crow! Why does it sit there and torment me? I am going to ask God to take it away.


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