Sound Solution

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