The Magpies

I met old Madge, sat on a post,
He eyed me, full of sorrow.
I raised my hand,
As man to man,
Hi, Magpie mate, good morrow.

Another maggot bird flew in,
His feathers fluffed with joy.
He turned my way,
He seemed to say,
Good day to you, old boy.

I wondered as the third arrived,
If what men say is true,
Why they believe
These birds are thieves –
Good morning, Sirs, to you.

Mischievous, motley jesters all,
Who love all shining things,
I’ve seen you steal
A hawk’s own meal
And scare him with your wings.

They say you wouldn’t board the ark,
That you are birds of evil.
You flapped around
Christ’s bloody crown –
Not you, you handsome devils.

A fourth arrived, a fifth, a sixth,
To where a rabbit lay
Full near to death.
With its last breath
Said, Spare me, sirs, today.

For, Magpies, I shall soon be dead.
Then you can have your fill.
But with pit-black eyes
The cruel magpies,
They gathered for the kill

Satan’s blood dripped from their tongue,
Their beaks, they stabbed and speared
The rabbit’s eyes.
It screamed and cried.
God damn you, Sirs – they never heard.

You hateful birds, of carrion bred,
For life you are not fit,
Keep from my way.
And hear me say,
On all you god-damned birds I spit.