THE BIRD

Cathriona Lafferty's picture

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The bird outside my window sings with a cry,
Waking me from sleep early of a morning,
Then I rub my eyes and breathe out with a sigh.
 
I hear my brother in the next room snoring, 
I match it to the sound of the bird's fine tune,
This unique beat is like a tune of mourning.
 
The bird now has reduced its singing to a croon,
I turn toward the sound and watch it singing,
The bird continues on as the clock strikes noon.
 
The song then stops, to the sound of ringing,
That's my alarm, with the consistent tinging.

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