Poetry

Currawong

Sing a song of sixpence, and rookery awry
Four and twenty black birds baked in a pie
—Most likely currawongs, they’re already pied.
But blackbirds are black birds, at least on the outside:
No peewit-like light bits, so I don’t think that’s right,
Even though two currawongs seldom make a white.
But blackberries are purplish, and when they’re green they’re red;
—Let’s leave the birds out: put berries in instead.

Lyle Dunne

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