The Crow Who Asked Too Clearly

Associated Press Banned from Whitehouse Briefings

In the tallest boughs where the big birds sat,

Perched Eagleton Goldcrest, smug and fat.

With Buzzerds flanking left and right,

He opened court with pomp and blight.

“More berries than we’ve ever had!

The best! So good—it’s almost bad!

We’re berry-rich—just ask the bees!

They voted me King of the Trees!”

Crabbie the Crow, with feathers neat,

Had flown past bins with naught to eat.

He’d seen the roots where branches broke,

And hungry critters thin and woke.

“Dear Council,” Crabbie cawed aloud,

“I counted berries—not the crowd.

They’re missing, vanished, nowhere near—

While numbers told don't match the year!”

A silence fell, then feathers twitched.

The Buzzerds gasped, then quickly switched.

“He questions us? A gloom machine!

A vibe-polluter! Mean! Obscene!”

“We cherish free debate!” they cried—

Then rang a Truth Bell, cast with pride.

“But not his tone—it’s much too loud!

He must be banned to please the crowd.”

Eagleton huffed with wings held wide,

“That crow’s committing Vibe Treason!” he cried.

“His facts are rude, his charts too grim—

I hereby ban all talk from him.”

The Buzzerds squawked, “A bold decree!”

And cheered with strange synchrony.

“Let all remarks be feather-brushed—

And questions first get pre-approved and hushed.”

“All queries go to Buzzerd Class,

Where facts wear vests and lies can pass.

We’ll dress up truth in proper ties,

Then spin it out with polished lies!”

They painted bins in berry red,

And stacked them tall with jam and thread.

“We’ll host a fest!” a Buzzerd chirped.

“With berry glue and slogans burped!”

“‘Our Leader Feeds Us!’ signs shall wave!

We’ll plant fake vines in every cave!

And say the loss was all a prank—

Or blame the squirrels. Or the bank!”

Lantern the Beetle scribbled slow,

And whispered soft to Maple: “So…

If facts can’t fly, then lies take wing.

We crown the feather—not the thing.”

Maple sighed low: “I miss his call—

The crow who dared to ask for all.

We snack on berries we don’t grow,

While roots go dry—and truth lies low.”

Meanwhile, on BuzzerdTV,

The headline read: “CROW FLEW FREE!”

“A quitter crow!” said Buzzerd 3—

While Crabbie sat in custody.

Yet in the dark, the wind still knows,

And rustles where the red fern grows.

It murmurs soft in midnight air:

“The truth’s not gone—it’s waiting there.”

📘 Moral:

If asking where the berries went becomes a crime, the lie has already bloomed.

But truth, like roots, waits patiently beneath painted bins.

✏️ Why I Wrote This

(By Forest Moss, Keeper of Old Woodland Tales)

I wrote The Crow Who Asked Too Clearly as a gentle-sounding fable with sharp, satirical feathers. It’s a story about what happens when truth is punished, spectacle is praised, and the birds in charge would rather paint empty bins than face the roots of the problem.

In this tale, Crabbie the Crow doesn’t shout or squawk—he simply asks a clear question: “Where did the berries go?”And for that, he’s banished. Not for being wrong, but for daring to notice.

This fable is for children growing up in a world where misinformation flies faster than fact, and for adults who’ve watched leaders lie louder, spin harder, and punish truth-tellers with a smile. Eagleton and his loyal Buzzerds aren’t just funny birds—they represent how quickly public discourse can turn performative, how censorship can wear polite feathers, and how propaganda can look like a parade.

But the forest remembers.

Just like Crabbie’s voice rustles through the ferns at night, truth waits underground—rooted, patient, and ready to return. This story is a reminder that truth doesn't disappear when silenced. It deepens.

I hope readers laugh at the berry glue and BuzzerdTV nonsense—and then pause to think about what’s happening in our own canopy.

And maybe, just maybe, feel brave enough to ask a clear question of their own.

— Forest MossWhisperer of truth under leaves