Thursday, October 20, 2005

Magpies




One for sorrow, two for joy,
three for a letter, four for a boy.
I spy with my little eye
Something that glints with gold,
Something borrowed, something old
And something that someone surely will miss.
For I steal where I can – from a baby’s pram,
From an open window, a cluttered table,
A street, a shop, a garden – all have something to offer.
Jewels of a lady, beads from a child,
Shell from a snail, pebble from a path,
Words overheard in a tram -
all are grist to my little mill.
I line my nest; I hoard them away to gloat over.
I serenade them; turn them over with my beak
And add to my collection every day.

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