Farm Cocks After Joyce Kilmer Alarm Clocks Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Dogs bark, birds tweet, cats shatter calm,
from muddy courtyard rise proud roosters' call
as Old MacDonald milks cows in their stall.
when moon sneaks off, when sun shakes dewy farm.
He bears a wooden stool, but not to harm
the dripping teets that greet his interplay
as cockerel crows triumphant summon day
to glow upon rude rustic cliché charm.

Few cities now know dawn may sunshine sing
for smog lies low upon wan window case,
'shadows numberless' drape everything,
pollution blocks bright view, as at snail pace
grime buses queue, masked workers brave time's sting,
pale priests hail raising hell for saving grace.

When Dawn strides out to wake a dewy farm
Across green fields and yellow hills of hay
The little twittering birds laugh in his way
And poise triumphant on his shining arm.
He bears a sword of flame but not to harm
The wakened life that feels his quickening sway
And barnyard voices shrilling 'It is day! '
Take by his grace a new and alien charm.

But in the city, like a wounded thing
That limps to cover from the angry chase,
He steals down streets where sickly arc-lights sing,
And wanly mock his young and shameful face;
And tiny gongs with cruel fervor ring
In many a high and dreary sleeping place.