Rant.

You know something? Birds; cheeping trilling, twittering, chirping, cawing, and rising dawns never seem very poetic at four in the morning, unless I go to bed early.
Writing this, I know, puts me at risk of seeming very lazy and lugabed, but I firmly take a stance that four is not the hour for rising. Let's hope I never work on a dairy farm. And what is it with poets and Unhuman hours?
Try google-ing "Birds at Dawn poem." My search afforded 1,330,000 results. How about some nice haiku as a comfort to my weary soul?

Birds singing
in the dark
—Rainy dawn


The morning songs of birds awakening
In the misty dawn
Sets my very soul aquaking
Like windblown grass of lawn.
The springtime morns
especially treat me
With the springtime birds of song
The robins come to early greet me
The blue jays also come along.

Bleh. Gag me. It's four in the morning and I feel like strangling the author of that poem. My poetic nature is absolutely "aquaking" right now from birdsong. Let's hope it recovers.

And yet Robert Frost declares that there is something wrong with wanting to silence any song. Ohhhhhh...
HMPH!

-Ophelia, who actually did write this at four.