A dialogue occurred, I happen to know,
Betwixt the white eagle and the crow.
Birds we are, said the crow, in the main,
Friends we are, and thus we shall remain.
Birds we are, agreed the eagle, only in name,
Our temperaments, alas, are not the same.
My leftovers are a king’s feast,
Carrion you devour, to say the least.
My perch’s the king’s arm, his palace my bed,
You haunt the ruins, mingle with the dead.
My color is heavenly, as everyone can tell,
Your color inflicts pain, like news from hell.
Kings tend to choose me rather than you,
Good attracts good, that goes for evil too.