May 2013
Undone by his wings of black and white,
I spit in his
presence;
As he shadows me
on these solemn days -
in singular.
His head tilted
and beady eyes
watchful; Hunting.
He senses
carrion.
Fly away!
Take your sorrow...
Leave me be,
with this
grey.
I spit in his
presence;
As he shadows me
on these solemn days -
in singular.
His head tilted
and beady eyes
watchful; Hunting.
He senses
carrion.
Fly away!
Take your sorrow...
Leave me be,
with this
grey.
:/ A clever, mischievous bird has taken a shine to me - inspiring a little Folklore...
Seeing a single Magpie, is known as a bad omen in Britain
& we have some odd ways of warding off the bad luck!
Some spit over their shoulder when they meet Mr Magpie,
Others salute him with a respectful Good Morning.
Whilst counting Magpies, is an old childhood game...
One for Sorrow, Two for Joy, Three for a Girl, Four for a Boy, Five for Silver, Six for Gold
Seven for a Secret ne'er to be told.
Seeing a single Magpie, is known as a bad omen in Britain
& we have some odd ways of warding off the bad luck!
Some spit over their shoulder when they meet Mr Magpie,
Others salute him with a respectful Good Morning.
Whilst counting Magpies, is an old childhood game...
One for Sorrow, Two for Joy, Three for a Girl, Four for a Boy, Five for Silver, Six for Gold
Seven for a Secret ne'er to be told.
