Where corvids come to to drink al'caw'hol.

I have a mouth but never speak A neck that bends without bones I dive where hunger leads the way Yet drink without a thirst of my own I hold world in shallow curves Give comfort, medicine and heat Empty I wait fulfilled I serve I am that never eats

I wear many coats though I’m not for the cold, I make strong folks cry, though I’m timid and old. Chop me to bits, I’ll still flavour your bowl

A man was born in the year nineteen forty eight and died twenty years later in the year nineteen twenty eight. How is this possible?

I sound like I smell worse, than that rose or daisy word. Don't fall into my trap, It's literally for the birds