The Mystery of the Blue Jay

Disclaimer – Don't own Cornelia's Funke's property characters

The Mystery of the Blue Jay

A sharp sound rings, a twitter springs

from the glades of the Wayless Wood.

A flash of blue never to rue comes nearer,

dashing through the green that is underfoot.

A Jay of Blue, his flight unhindered,

swoops through, he is pursued.

For the glory of the poorer and

the Motley folk who roam the

land he stands to fight.

He is triumphant, though followed.

The sky-blue plume left behind

is his victorious shout.

Escape his talent, looks and charm.

He has wit and cunning

one can never disarm.

Tall is he, and masked in feathers

of blue, yellow, white and black.

Hair the color of moleskin is not a denied fact.

The pale scar left of a hounds' fierce bite

resides bitter on his left arm,

a mark to be identified by,

but which sleeves sometimes hide.

None know him, yet all do,

for who can say what passerby

on a lonely road is he?

None do know, for the Jay is a mystery

with no history to be read aloud or

in thought in the silence of a library.

He appeared only from ink and pen.

Off, paper read was he. A writer's tale,

from a scribes vivid imagination,

too bored with tales of truth and history

and poems of princes long dead.

He is a dream, a legend, a myth,

a child's bedtime story, no more, no less.

Or is He?

Father or Brother? Friend or foe?

None do know.

Bookbinder or Robber? Peasant or Prince?

Folly lies in anything hence.

Who can tell the truth from the lies?

The history from the myth?

Who can say which is the way to

the life and truth that is his?

The blue as sky might be a blending lie,

Some, a truth might say.

But what of that is truth?

What of truth is the Blue Jay?