A Magpies Rhyme
Our neighbor Edna is an incessant talker for sure
My husband says squawker, and I think so too
Weird words come out in a blather, somehow threatening
More than a bit of chatter, it is constant and nonsensical.
We call her magpie when we are alone, which is not nice.
For this infraction, we may someday atone, we know it too.
But for now, it gives us a tiny bit of satisfaction, strangely enough.
Edna’s words are fired forth in a spewing action, her ideas open.
It’s like every thought in her head has to come forth.
Does she keep nothing for herself? To make fun of us perhaps?
Her ways are curious to us, and her rhymes are twisted and disjointed.
A dash from subject to subject, and quickly back. It is difficult to follow.
There is a rhythm to her madness. She dances to her own rhymes.
Magpie’s rhymes. I like the sound of this, decide to write a poem.
Can never tell Edna of her help though, for she is an incessant talker.
Never listens to anyone else, thinking only her thoughts are important.
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