The Tale of Will Magpye

I saw him every summer.

He was odd when going

About his ways.

Skirting along the windowsills

As if he hadn't a care in the world.

Which, being a boy like he was,

I suppose he did not.

Such marvellous beauty

Did he possess:

A breast of purest white

It looked as if it

Had never seen the sun.

But, of course,

He saw and sees it daily.

For he has dwelt above the clouds

For more than a little while.

And see his head!

Adorned with the blackest black of night.

But it is his back that

Hold his truest beauty.

For the flashes of the blue wings

Tattooed there,

That vary in shade with the comings

And goings of the sun,

Are truly a sight to behold.

Alas, he dwells far above the clouds,

Forever out of my reach.

And I shall never see that flash

Of blue again.