Birdsong

I wake, at 6 am, this morn,
and begin my household chores.

"How dull" I think to myself
And have a little yawn.

I hear a bird calling,
his scintillating song,
and think,
"In a world like this,
how is there any wrong?"

I see a crow come and fly down,
Land on my garden fence.
The crow opens it's beak,
and lets it's song commence.

The awful shriek come flooding out,
and pains my poor, poor ears,
and drives away the other bird,
out of pure, untamed fear.