For my second poem in this thirty day odyssey, I present a tale of the dawn chorus as seen from the perspective of an inebriated blackbird. Whoever said poetry needed to be about deep themes?
Home at the Dawn Chorus
A blackbird flutters back to his roost
after a night down the garden
dining on seeds
from an immaculate green feeder
with several perches
wallowing with other birds
in a stone bird bath
after which he clambers into his nest
to sleep off the gorging
and the guzzling
and the slurred singing of Wren of Harlech
only to hear the robin in the next tree
belting out a tenor solo
as the sun rises
and the blackbird curses
the chorus which greets his ears.
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