I once read a book, the name of which I have forgotten. In it, a girl from Newfoundland recites a poem when she sees a flock of crows. I memorized it, and still somehow remember it today. Lately it has been in my mind, so I found it.
One for sadness, two for mirth;
Three for marriage, four for birth;
Five for laughing, six for crying:
Seven for sickness, eight for dying;
Nine for silver, ten for gold;
Eleven for a secret that will never be told.