Resplendent, gloriously
Clothed in their heraldry
Of the white they aspire to
And the dark means at their disposal
Steel beaks like paddock judgement
Menacing in twos and threes
Clear and cunning glassy eyes
That know where every shiny thing lies
The magpies are not from here
They're from some distant land
On a mission, or a slaughter
Colours flapping in the wind of battle
Paused their princely pilgrimages
To tarry in the fields
Police the country paddocks
And go hunting for their meals
The tūī and the kērērū
Have been chatting, and agree
The magpies are quite welcome to go home
At any time they please