It's strange the things we remember.


On a warm summers dawn,
Heard little birdie whistle.
Wonder if he's happy,
Or did he sit upon a thistle.

Maybe that was the screech,
Heard from a bigger bird.
Remembering what father said,
As he jumped out of bed.

When he was suddenly woken,
To the dawn chorus of the birds.
He opened the window wide,
Although this sounds absurd.

As though he was a Sargent major
He'd bellowed shut up,
To our feathered friends.
Then slammed the window shut.

Poetry by Alan J Ripley The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 114 times
Written on 2022-02-09 at 00:41

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Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
I love the dawn chorus, but I can see it would not appeal to all :-)

Elle x

D G Moody The PoetBay support member heart!
This reminds me of when we had some Canadians staying. The husband was freaked out when the pigeons began their chorus, he had never heard them before. And of course, the chorus is everything. Nice one Alan.