Magpies

Heavily influenced by Chinese writing form, including some Chinese mythology

The silver toad swallows the hanging disc

As the green jade leaves sway in the breeze

The poet sits alone, burning incense in his lonely tripod

As the ghost of a memory haunts his waking hours

Life so short it had hardly begun

The lovely maiden pure as a phoenix

Her soul broken like the discarded hairpin

Each part flying to its final place

Guanyin smiles down on the melancholy poet

Hoping at the end of his days

To be united once more with his love

For now the magpies are gone

And the poet sits burning his incense in his lonely tripod