Magpie
Arrogantly you strut across my lawn
with head held high - unblinking eye
as though you are unto the manor born,
in your tuxedo crisply black and white
with strong beak black - wings folded back,
you claim my yard as though it was your right.
Then from my tree your loud melodic notes
fill evening air - so sweet and clear,
such joyous warbling from your feathered throat
makes it apparent that not even I
can take a stand - and claim this land
from such a one as you, oh proud magpie.
© Pete Stratford 23.4.11
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