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Poetry: Birds

by Jon Greene

Created on: October 07, 2009   Last Updated: October 24, 2011

'One for sorrow,' the old rhyme goes;

The magpie follows my every move,

Harbinger of a loss that none can sooth,

Like the bite of a winter's wind that blows

Relentlessly to the bone. 


'Two for joy,' the optimist states, 

Yet the pain increases by degrees  

As the magpies mock me from the trees,

Their numbers predict my fate:

All I see is a collection of ones. 



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