The Crows and the Tides

Crows at low tide, inventive and clever,
Black beaks probing the mud to find
Cockles, whelks, slipper limpets.
They seize the prize, then fly up high
To drop the poor mollusc
Onto the hard tarmac path,
Again and again,
Until the shell finally cracks,
And the crow can enjoy the tasty treasure therein.

Crows at high tide, irritable and listless,
Flapping about on the sea wall
Croaking, quarreling,
Brooding, bickering,
Watching the water,
Waiting for the tide to turn,
Envious of the gulls and waders,
Until the mud dries out enough
For the crows to return to their treasure hunt.