Written for the June 2018 round of the Twisted Traditional Poetry Contest, but it didn't place
Ode to a Noisy Nightingale
All night that frightful nightingale will sing
a song so shrill and sharp I cannot sleep.
I'll suffer while he warbles on the wing
and can't relax by slowly counting sheep.
I yearn to wring his pretty feathered neck
or blow him clean away with just one shot
so that I might recline without his din.
He's made my life a wreck
by sticking to his nightly singing slot.
Sleep deprivation is a deadly sin.
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