I watched a magpie pondering the mysteries of life,
He perched upon a sagging line, taking in the sights.
Sixteen wheelers rampaged through the space beneath his feet,
He cared as much as streetlights do when flies upon them meet.

Other winged adventurers regarded him with care,
Their courtesies were kept in check, exchanges very rare.
Not only those that scaled the skies but those that climbed the poles,
Surveyed the magpie’s presence as the blacksmith eyes the coals.

The lion’s share of creatures with effort can be tamed,
But the chalky, charcoal wanderer, all efforts are in vain.
He will not go directed, he does not fear the hand,
He struts along a footpath as the mustang pounds the land.

Some find beauty in the birds that surf the wind like sails,
Eagles, Hawks and Falcons, but me, I think they fail.
They fail the test of nerve, they can be called to heel,
The bold and dauntless black and white was never known to kneel.

There is no shame in walking to the strict beat of the drum,
The cause won’t cross the finish line lacking numbers in the scrum,
And beauty most would testify is in colours and design,
The structure of perfection to few God did assign.

But I would argue differently and of this I am sure,
Beauty is a simple thing common, bland and pure.
Beware of gazing blindly when the wizard shakes his hand,
While your attention was absorbed you missed the truly grand.

What’s truly great and wonderful, as the saying goes of old,
Won’t be found on pedestals, all that glitters is not gold.
The worlds delights will not be found in the neighbourhood of fame,
It hides within the masses, to most it looks the same.
But train your eye to look beyond where most will fall their gaze,
And you will find the special kind that truly do amaze.