One For Sorrow

My mother always told me to salute you,

With a brisk striking motion with my hand from the head,

The first time I ever saw you,

You lowered your head and bowed to me.

You have been despised for years I was told,

For hanging around battlefields and gallows long ago,

Disturbing people with your chattering call,

When from a distance heard is unmistakable.

One morning you perch on my garden fence,

The eye in the sky shone buoyant and bright,

I was surprised you didn’t shoot off

When the patio door slid open.

But elegant you perch on my garden fence,

I tiptoe towards you tentatively slow

And stopped and looked into your brown eyes,

I never thought I would get so close.

I stroke your velvet textured head,

My finger tickles your oily white bust,

Your two-tone colour mystifies me,

A cross between a crow and a dove?

My mother told me you symbolise,

Bad nuns, bad priests made visible again,

You shoot off and my superstition dies -

No need to salute magic bird, chatter-pie.