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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
From the moment I layed my eyes on this poem I fell in love, thank you for sharing your wonderful poem.
kill urself u fat u literaly do nothing all day and u on my dat occk