The Magpie dies in Act No. V
Though the audience was hardly privy
It was only me, in the backrow seat,
Who saw the gentle feather
Who heard the silent clink
Its branch that swayed bare
Shivering only but a moment
Before it found a new pair of feet

The roar of the crowd rippled and swelled
With the song of the main headline
Licking the tune, wetting the eyes, but at the end
My lashes remained dry
For I, at least, could spare a glance
Toward the soul who belted Act I through V
Laid angled below the plastic bushes
Gone, dead, died

Once there was a mountain
Atop which lived a tree
Her swaying arms full with oranges and greens
She loved the mountain god
Who trailed her shores
Watched him light rainbows in the skies,
Freeze waters at nights,
And on occasion, rest under flits of sunlight
That drifted through her leaves