Classic Poem

I can crow at the thunder hawk,
Scream contempt to his beak;
Let the loud seraglio squawk,
Turn white and weak.

Let them scutter to their coops;
Watch me flapping on my fence;
This red crest never droops,
This throat scorns impotence.

Though I quake and he scowl,
His Black Majesty shall know
That for all he may howl,