Magpies

Grandpa took his gun Out to the field And I watched as he aimed at the birds And I asked my father "why?" And he said "They peck the peaches, they raze the raspberries, they plunder the plums" And I think, where I a magpie Instead of a girl with her pockets Full of bugs and dirt and smooth, shiny rocks, I'd crave that sweet fruit And how shocking would it be to taste The metal that breaks my beak And shatters my skull Do they know what they risk when they perch on the branches, Do they see my grandfather aim the barrel at them? Would they come back if they knew? I think; I would, where I a magpie instead of a girl