Monday, 3 December 2012

Magpie

I, the Devil gave wing

to the rumour

of a man on a cross

in a crown.

Jewels from heaven would surely

tempt song from a magpie

and let fall my ruby

a rattle on his tongue.

I met the thief at night

in a boudoir

as we admired our finery

before the glass.

With a flourish my hand

flared seven candles

and the bird spied

my ruby set in a ring,

heart alive with flames of hell.

With artful swoop, beak and claw

he claimed it

and mocked me

from high on a niche.

In legend it's told

the audacious drop

is my blood on his tongue,

but be assured,

he only stole my ruby.

Now I've marked him for vengeance,

though my powers are low and sickly

magpie's cross

was carved by my hand.


 

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