The Crow and the Pitcher

A thirsty crow came flying low across the dusty summer ground, And there beside a garden wall a tall clay pitcher she had found. She perched upon the rim and peered at water gleaming way below, But the water sat so deep inside her beak could never go.

"Oh, what am I to do?" she cried, "I'm parched and tired and dry! The water's there, I see it shine, but it's too far to reach, oh my." She could have flown away that day and searched for water somewhere new, But clever Crow sat very still and thought of what she ought to do.

She spied a pebble on the ground, smooth and round and grey, She picked it up and dropped it in and watched it sink away. The water rose a tiny bit, just barely, just a touch, But Crow was wise enough to know a little adds to much.

Another pebble, then one more, she fetched them one by one, She worked beneath the blazing heat of the afternoon-time sun. Plink went a pebble, plunk went the next, each one a little cheer, And bit by bit and stone by stone the water started to appear.

Higher, higher, rising slow, the waterline began to climb, Each pebble was a tiny step, and Crow had taken her sweet time. She did not rush, she did not quit, she kept her plan in sight, And every stone she dropped inside brought water to the light.

At last the water kissed the brim, so cool and fresh and clear, And Crow dipped in her grateful beak and drank without a fear. She threw her head back, spread her wings, and sang out to the sky, "When you think before you act, no problem is too high!"

So when you face a tricky spot and don't know what to do, Sit still and think, try something small, the answer may come through. A pebble here, a pebble there, a little at a time, And what seemed so impossible becomes a mountain you can climb.