This is a crow town –

there are no magpies round here.

Solid black from beak to tailfeather.

 

We don’t do your fancy

Piebald glad rags.

We don’t talk your poncy language.

 

We do your straight

evisceration of live fledglings

while the mother squawks.

 

No frills, no grace-notes.

We don’t go for bright gewgaws

or pinch girls’ earrings.

 

We don’t mince about in tidings;

when we gang up

they call it murder.

 

We don’t bring bad luck

or good either.

Nobody bows and sucks up to us.

 

Nobody jabbers silly rhymes.

This is a crow town

where crows live and do crow things.

 

We want no magpies round here.

 

 

 

 

 

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