Greeting you is as easy as knocking wood. Asking about
your wife and the fledglings is truly out of genuine concern.
More than merely an effort to ward off, impending bad luck.
But why, Mr. Magpie, did you snatch my car keys?
Your hope-hop street drag this shiny shimmering
treasure toward a high nest and who knows where.
Pleading with you, softly, was difficult
I can't stomach a thief, must remain tactful.
I risk you flying away and stranding me.
Overhead, seagulls circle, laugh to see such a sight.
Knowing neither words in Italian or magpie
There is little left to say but Per favore and non rubare
I have some semi di girasole in the car. Trade?
If you surrender, my sunflower seeds are yours.
Your trill and chatter, stare, both seem to matter
tells me you may choose today, to be merciful.
When the handful exchange is finally made
your compassion and innocence are proved.
I may make it home in time, for cold dinner.