039 • Dead of night
From the coalhole, or under the floor,
Strange birdsong I’ve not heard before.
The monochrome coo
Of a black cockatoo?
Or the plaint of a plainclothes macaw?
Edgar Allan Poe … that middle name, prosaic though it may be, confers a certain gravity. I was named Richard Eric Lime in imitation of the rhythm of Poe’s name. I’ve yet to marry an underage cousin, however.
2 thoughts on “039 • Dead of night”
One of the very important questions of our time addressed right here!
Hi Piffle,
Glad you agree. And the more remote we become from the natural world (the more our environmental carelessness reduces bird numbers) the more unsettling *any* birdsong is going to become.
Go well,
Rick