Oh, how I relish your song in the morning!
Your throaty call drifts across the yard.
I look, eyes shining brightly, when I spy you
high in the tree. You like to sing from the very tip
top of the pines. Looking like a speck of brown
atop the prickly greens. I peer up long enough to whisper
good morning. You quiet long enough for other birdsong
to filter through the dawn kissed air. I find myself humming
along. As the rooster crows his loud morning song.
The hens chirp and hum as they wake.
I, for one, will be grateful for this day.
