The light had barely broken
when his flutter caught my ear.
Through bleary, sleep-stained, sticky eyes
upon my sill, he did appear.
He’d been bathing in my water-course
flew up to preen and dry.
His sharp beak raked beneath his wings,
then arched back as he gazed up high.
A myriad of wakening hues,
shone from his glistening coat.
The morning chorus erupted from
this small but efficient throat.
Twas then I remembered my training,
with some small degree of sorrow.
Squeeeeeeeeze, don’t pull.
Then BANG! Job done.
That’s one, who won’t
waken me, tomorrow?
You're an endless source of wise and witty eloquence old pal. Just read half a dozen of your new ones and now wonder why I've left it so long to come back to your page. Great to read you again Danny.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very good Dan. I can vaguely remember a poem about the bright little sparrow which chirped on the poet's windowsill. Until the window was slammed shut with force to silence him forever. Here's the challenge. See if you can find the full version.