I saw seven magpies
On a walk
By the ruins of an old fort.
That means luck, I thought.
The fort stares out to sea,
Waiting for invaders who never came.
The birds didn’t stir,
As if they belonged there.
They took off finally, three, then four.
Like omens, I felt.
No five for silver
Or six for gold.
Two should bring joy,
The old rhyme says;
Not sorrow, like one;
But seven’s a secret untold.
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