It's strange the things we remember.
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
Read 265 times
Written on 2022-02-09 at 00:41
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
DAWN CHORUS
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
Read 265 times
Written on 2022-02-09 at 00:41
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
Elle |
|
D G Moody |
