My neighbor gets a rooster. |
Cock-a-doodle-do is a predawn wake up call. What am I to do? Should I hang my head and bawl? Cock-a-doodle-do wakes me from my deepest sleep. It’s my neighbor Lou; got the rooster at, Birds Cheap. No time to fret, I must set him straight; it’s disturbing to me, a wee-morning woe. Some are too crude, it’s beyond the pale; they’re the rude of the Earth, as far as I know. Even before the sun, comes a sound that hurts my head. Feel like I’m undone; I feel like this side of dead. In the quiet night there’s a peace that comforts me. And it is all right, until rooster cacophony. Gather resolve, I must tell myself; there’s no room for the bird in this neighborhood. And it’s the rude that I often dread-- I will tell him one day, (I know that I should.) Morning number nine; guess the rooster does his thing. I am feeling fine; maybe little birdies sing. Espy the sunrise; pour some coffee in my mug. Rub my sleepy eyes; give another day a hug. Now I am off for a slice of life; there are blessing galore, so I must take stock. I found a way to conceal the sound-- with a white noise machine, I conquered the cock. 36 Lines Writer’s Cramp 5-29-16 |