The lovers write of morning birds
Songs sung to make the day
Pleasant. A reader’s heart comfirms
The lovely sound of birds at play.
Life on the farm thus portrayed
With morning sounds so pleasant
But what reality arrayed
In truth is rather different.
The morning birdsong on my ranch
Is too loud for my ears to hear
The songs that birds sing on the branch.
All I hear is rattling gear,
Crying kids and cows mooing.
I hear tractors, angry men and water,
Rotten curses and grandpa pooing.
Indeed, the thuds of grandma’s walker
And everything unsweet in sound
Is the birdsong on my ranch. My alarm
But if I close my eyes and pound
My ears full cotton,
I can imagine the poet’s descriptive farm,
The birdsong my ranch is wanting.