she's still not over the fact that she is under the ground she speaks in rattly, clattery hissing voices whenever they come around "I'll reach right up and turn your ankles you unforgivable gits, for burying me, prematurely, over a spell of the coughing fits" so angry with her new residence and bored a deeper shade of blue she's knocked over her marble marker and broken it clean in two. Boo! ~ Rene 2010 To join Magpie Tales click HERE For another take on this magpie please check out "The Song Of The Stone Healer"
Lucky you!
ReplyDeleteI agree with Susan. Sounds wonderful!
ReplyDeleteAh, bring on the wildness within!!
ReplyDeleteCool form. Nice poem.
ReplyDeleteMoon-wild, the best possible wildness!
ReplyDeleteI love the words, and the form enhances!
ReplyDeleteWe shall be moon-mad together, 'cause it's wonderful!
ReplyDeleteLove this cheeky delight of a poem. :-)
You too. Blame it on the moon.
ReplyDeleteAh yes the moon does seem to have that effect on us :D
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