Bird
Talk.
Feeding in the morning sun
Chattering on the rail
The king parrot always arrives
Without fail
I heard a whisper in the trees
Was it the will o’ the wisp?
Leading me up the garden path
In the midnight air so crisp.
Or maybe a sneeze from the breeze
A cough hiccough or snuffle
When it’s dark out in the park
Dogs searching for a truffle.
Or was it my lucky cricket
Rubbing his legs together
Or maybe just a passing shower
A short-change in the weather.
Before dawn, my mind was torn
Between ifs and buts or who
Could be making haunting sounds
Too whit too whit too woo.
An old owl on the prowl
Trying to talk turkey
Or is it simply bird talk
Some birdies are quirky.
To me the rounds of morning sounds
Sound much like Gobbledygook
Unintelligible language
Nere was written in a book.
I reckon it’s just bird talk
I hear it every day
From the lips the Freudian slips
In every word they say.
©
David Rudder
2023
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