I woke up this morning
when the birds sang.
The tweet and the trill,
the peep peep, the usual chirps.
God’s alarm clock.
But this one morning,
grating songs,
raucous sounds,
needling sharp notes,
obnoxious squacks
like never before.
Ran to the window,
squinted down the sun,
alert for the danger,
the disturbance
that would turn melody
into ear-covering noise,
an atonal avian symphony.
But there was no danger.
The birds had abandoned
their sweet songs—
annoying, threatening, cacophonous—
Keats’ nightmare, not nightingale.
The noise would have driven
the couple stark out of Eden.
The wren’s warble, a red-breasted song.
A caw is melodious,
even the bluejay’s screech
can be beautiful.
Oh, never take for granted
delightful bird song.
Originally published in Poesis Magazine