Solitary

Nine crows had flapped their way in from the west.
Three large, who led in precise arrowhead lines;
six stragglers behind,all trying their very best
to maintain crowdom's aerial designs.

One of them gave up the chase and flopped  
on the roof of a building two doors further down
and there, calling plaintively, glottal-stopped,
besought the return of the others onward flown.

And yet, despite its obvious corvine anguish,
(whether  male or female I cannot say)
the others have left it there alone to languish
mournfully in its lonely avian way.

I will consider its plight with deference,
but prefer to avoid a personal reference.