MAGPIES

By JUDITH WRIGHT

Along the road the magpies walk
with hands in pockets, left and right.
They tilt their heads, and stroll and talk.
In their well-fitted black and white

they look like certain gentlemen who seem most nonchalant and wise
until their meal is served - and then
what clashing beaks, what greedy eyes!

But not one man that I have heard
throws back his head in such a song
of grace and praise - no man nor bird.
Their greed is brief; their joy is long.
For each is born with such a throat
as thanks his God with every note.

I Heard The Bells Ring For Maggie

By Bernice Angoh




Oh Maggie
my precious little dottie
I remember you
child of wonder, born for a fight
I never taught you how to spell the word
I never thought my fight would become yours
Maggie, Maggie, I remember you
holding my finger as we walked the park in summer
your little daisy dress flapping in the wind and
two skippity feet that bruised a knee once in a while
You were one to never give up and never be afraid
but I never taught you to spell that word
for never in my wildest dreams
did I ever want my fight to become your fight
Still, you fought well my child, you fought hard
I have been watching from afar since that day I left you behind
but I was never far away, I was always by you, with you, in you
serving up every teardrop to calm you down
and wiping them again to keep the shine in your eyes
my child of wonder, born to fly
my daughter, my friend, in this plight
you have fought long enough and now you must rest
come, let me craddle your head against my bosom
come, let me polish your bones and give them to Jesus
He will make them new again
No use shall they serve you here above but a remembrance
of the fight you put in them--they shall serve another well down below
child of wonder I fought to birth
come let me craddle your sweet head against my breast
come let me polish your bones and give them to Jesus.