Thirsty Crow's Twist

In a park where shadows loomed, 'Midst whispering trees, a tale presumed. A thirsty crow, with eyes agleam, Sought a drink, a sinister dream.

Fountains dry, the sun burnt high, Clyde sought juice, the end was nigh. He found Pete, a parrot dark, Whose beak hid secrets, a fearful mark.

"Help me, Pete, I thirst for life!" Clyde squawked, his voice a knife. But cups too small for Pete's cruel beak, A chilling problem they must seek.

With twisted straws, Clyde did weave, An eerie plan, no soul's reprieve. Bottles of juice, now within grasp, Straws snaked up, a fearsome clasp.

To his roost, the straws did snake, Clyde sipped darkly, his thirst did slake. Pete grinned wide, a fiendish smirk, The animals drawn, to this twisted dirk.

Squirrels, rabbits, creatures all, Came too close, to heed the call. Clyde's invention, a sinister scheme, Drank not juice, but their darkest dream.

Straws turned to tendrils, a twisted glide, Animals shuddered, no place to hide. Laughter turned to terror, fear did grow, Clyde's invention, a ghastly show.

In that park, amidst the gloom, A crow's dark wit, a terrible doom. Screams echoed, in the cursed air, A horror tale, beyond repair.

So heed this tale, when shadows call, And darkness lurks to enthrall. Beware the crow with twisted brew, For what it sips might drink from you.