The Magpie and the Blackbird.

There's a blackbird,
And it's flying between the trees,
Hedgrows bowing and whining,
Against the momentary weight
Of cartilage and feathers.
With a beak full of leaves
And a brain awash with instinct,
The busy worker frantically flits,
Parting the air with
Streamlined finesse.
It's beady black eyes swirling in desperation,
As black and white villains
Tumble through the space,
Between the blackbird and it's
future generation.
Brutal warfare, natures genocide
Played out to the tune
Of crazed, screeching blackbirds,
And the wild sadistic cackle
Of a Magpie,
Taking what's left of the broken eggs
And carrying them away
To feed the evil that breeds
Withing it's own protective castle
Of twigs and mud.