Along the road the magpies walkwith 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 wiseuntil their meal is served — and thenwhat clashing beaks, what greedy eyes!
But not one man that I have heard throws back his head in such a songof 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.
