The Counterpoint of Birds

The Counterpoint of Birds

First light of dawn is deep hue smalt

Which fades and pales to powder blue

As background noise - M62,

Increases, never seems to halt,

Provides a pedal or a drone, 

Incessant, rushing monotone

Above whose roar, like distant sea,

An early bird, quite close at hand

Atop the neighbour’s holly tree

States his subject,starts a strand,

A timid hesitating phrase, 

And pauses, thinks he is at fault,

As none take up his shy refrain,

But keeps his nerve and tries again,

Insists on morning, takes command,

Restates the subject of his fugue.

Until another joins in,

High in pitch, short whistling,

Which harmonises nearby snoring

Contented, snorting sighs of praise.

And then a pigeon on the roof

Hoots down the chimney in disdain,

Just as the wall clock in the hall

Strikes six and its sweet ringing chime,

Is answered by a robin’s call,

And then a far off collared dove

Starts up a football chant, quite boring.

A magpie sneers and jeers to rhyme

Each scoffing shout an ill tempered rant,

Which causes counterpoint to stall,

By leaving others feeling small.

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