Now who's been feeding Maggie, That magpie some call fat? Well feathered, and not too scraggy, On a branch to pose, it sat.
Some London pubs take it as name, The whole or just in part, But that's not all to Maggie's fame, Why 'tis but a wee start.
Kids sing "one for sorrow, two for joy," But what they're never told Is magpies nosh on carrion -- oy! -- And other birds' eggs, aint that cold?
Magpie, caged by brush and paint, You will pose and never stir, Because you cannot make complaint, Being brushed strokes though, that is no slur.
Magpie, caught by the artist's eye, Is black and blue, ah yes, and white Among flights of fancy, by and by, As Maggie'll imagine imagined flight.
Good to see a bird now stirred Again to share from solitude, art, For what is done by sight and word Is no loneliness, but from solitude's private heart.
Off it goes, into the wild blued yonder, For so the lyrical story goes, For wing we all, as we life ponder The soaring paths which for us life chose.
Now who's been feeding Maggie,
ReplyDeleteThat magpie some call fat?
Well feathered, and not too scraggy,
On a branch to pose, it sat.
Some London pubs take it as name,
The whole or just in part,
But that's not all to Maggie's fame,
Why 'tis but a wee start.
Kids sing "one for sorrow, two for joy,"
But what they're never told
Is magpies nosh on carrion -- oy! --
And other birds' eggs, aint that cold?
Magpie, caged by brush and paint,
You will pose and never stir,
Because you cannot make complaint,
Being brushed strokes though, that is no slur.
Magpie, caught by the artist's eye,
Is black and blue, ah yes, and white
Among flights of fancy, by and by,
As Maggie'll imagine imagined flight.
Good to see a bird now stirred
Again to share from solitude, art,
For what is done by sight and word
Is no loneliness, but from solitude's private heart.
Off it goes, into the wild blued yonder,
For so the lyrical story goes,
For wing we all, as we life ponder
The soaring paths which for us life chose.
---- A nonny mouse