Magpies If only you could taste the way they stare, Disdainful as a lemon, bitter as gooseberry. Their mock Tudor plummage neatly pressed, They line up in pairs with jocular eyes, Calls, half cough, half a swallowed laugh Waiting for the next jape they can pull. Of any birds you'd like to have a pint with, Let it be these avine comedians.