I'm at the end of the seven ages of humankind.
An ancient parchment of nursery rhymes,
Tales of nonsense, magic, evil and good,
And verses drumming out morals of their times,
And do you, dear reader, recall these pieces?
Titles like 'Jack be nimble' and 'See saw, Marjory daw',
'Jack and Jill' and 'Mary, Mary' with her fleeces.
I hummed them all as I flicked the foxed pages,
And came across a mantra I still sing in the field,
A counting rhyme about the magpie in numerical stages,
Each number seen having a prophetic yield,
Viz. one for sorrow, two for joy,
Three for a girl, four for a boy,
And so it goes on until the end
But now I only look for one or two as I wend.
Today as I walked the dog in a local park
I saw a magpie in light and dark,
And the old mantra came into play,
'One for sorrow' I started to say,
And I looked in vain for its mate,
Hoping that joy wouldn't hesitate,
But the ying and yang of the sky
Was the only one I could spy.
Until in the corner of my eye
I saw the bird take off and fly,
And I counted it as number two,
Even though it was not true;
I pretended to see the invisible,
I knew that one was not divisible, but boy,
I wanted to see two for joy.
And at the end of the day, who cares?
Poetry by Christopher Fernie
Read 691 times
Written on 2016-07-05 at 21:34
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Childsong
In the loft I found in the archaeology of childhoodAn ancient parchment of nursery rhymes,
Tales of nonsense, magic, evil and good,
And verses drumming out morals of their times,
And do you, dear reader, recall these pieces?
Titles like 'Jack be nimble' and 'See saw, Marjory daw',
'Jack and Jill' and 'Mary, Mary' with her fleeces.
I hummed them all as I flicked the foxed pages,
And came across a mantra I still sing in the field,
A counting rhyme about the magpie in numerical stages,
Each number seen having a prophetic yield,
Viz. one for sorrow, two for joy,
Three for a girl, four for a boy,
And so it goes on until the end
But now I only look for one or two as I wend.
Today as I walked the dog in a local park
I saw a magpie in light and dark,
And the old mantra came into play,
'One for sorrow' I started to say,
And I looked in vain for its mate,
Hoping that joy wouldn't hesitate,
But the ying and yang of the sky
Was the only one I could spy.
Until in the corner of my eye
I saw the bird take off and fly,
And I counted it as number two,
Even though it was not true;
I pretended to see the invisible,
I knew that one was not divisible, but boy,
I wanted to see two for joy.
And at the end of the day, who cares?
Poetry by Christopher Fernie
Read 691 times
Written on 2016-07-05 at 21:34
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Jamsbo Rockda |
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Lawrence Beck |
