Raven

A raven over me, lesser birds by he, wind blowing through every tree, unlike myself, the raven is free.
He "caws" thrice, and a fourth time still, the fresh air is pleasing and nice, as I rest on my window sill. White clouds smear, the blue sky, the day couldn't be more clear, as wings soar up high.
The raven continues his cry, wing-span of about a foot, he goes over, then again he flies by, his body the color of fireplace soot.