A poem from the point of view of the only magpie living in Shetland
Gannets and guillemots throng in their thousands,
Screeching and squawking across the cliffs,
While from the rocky ledge below,
Puffins gently rise and float free.
The treeless land rolls towards the sea,
Dotted with flowers and munching sheep
– Some knotted and woolly, some shorn –
Accompanied by the occasional cow.
In the bay beyond the orca has arrived,
At first just a tiny finger of fin,
Then the ripples grow as it gets closer,
Black body arching, bubbles blowing.
I watch too, alone on my branch,
In silence – Shetland’s sole magpie.
Why do I stay in this lonesome place?
Look around and you’ll see, I say.