What’s that sound, it doesn’t belong,
Return to dreamland, intruder begone,
But my senses awake, I open my eyes,
It’s 5am I see with surprise!
Again that sound, that chitter chatter,
Inside or outside, it doesn’t matter,
Another blast, please go away,
I cover my head, to keep it at bay.
A familiar sound, ah now I know,
Black and white, and blue for show,
They’re loud & bold, I know their cries,
It’s that pair of brazen magpies.
I accept the sound, give up my sleep,
Two hours before my clock will beep,
Read, weed or maybe I’ll write,
First tea and toast to lose the night.
Embracing the sound, I start to rhyme,
Two verses by the 6 o’clock chime,
And by the 7th, a poem with pride,
Inspired by those thieves outside.
So to that sound, that harsh duet,
It’s strange to say I owe a debt,
They help me rise with the light,
I’ve found the best time to write.
Harry Brooks (2009)
© Copyright Harry Brooks. All rights reserved.