Try and figure out what animal I'm describing before the end of the poem:
We line our nests with stolen jewels,
Purloined from pompous fools;
Our backs are black, our wings are white,
We dress like robbers in the night;
People hate the sight of us,
Treat us like we're dirt or rust;
Stealing dog food, teasing cats,
Perching light and flying fast;
Our bag of tools is beak and claw,
Our victims claim they always saw
It coming, but we know they lie:
None expect the brave magpie.