YAWN CHORUS

[They shouldn't wake up
before me ... ]

The birds in my garden
Who yell without pardon
And wake me too soon and too surly,
Have perhaps got good reason
Throughout every season
For waking so perishing early.

Now, I care for their needs,
And I buy nuts and seeds.
There are twee nesting boxes on branches,
And I've made them a bath
Which they slosh on the path
With war-cries like film set Comanches.
They're not grateful a bit
And they frequently spit
The oddest of seeds on my borders,
While their morning refrain
Is affecting my brain
Like an infant class learning recorders.

But if I spent the dark
Huddled up to cold bark
With my feathers on end like a duster,
Perhaps I'd greet the dawn
With a yell, not a yawn,
While my mates shrieked around at first muster.

So I'll make them snug beds
For their wee feathered heads,
With duvets from tail-tips to beak ends,
And then they and I both
Can sleep on in sloth,
Especially during the weekends.
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