Wednesday, 2 April 2014

The Darkest Hour

I used to love the birdsong,
the trilling, tweeting in the trees.
It filled my heart with gladness
And left my soul at ease.

The chirping chorus of the dawn
Once meant a night of having fun.
Drinking, dancing, loving, laughing.
Staying up to catch the sun.

Now the chorus signifies
Another long and sleepless night.
Laying wide awake for hours,
Waiting for sleep's brief respite.

Now I loathe the birdsong,
the shrieking, shrilling in the trees.
With window shut and earplugs in,
I lie and hope the song will cease.

For when I'm resting in my bed,
The subtlest noises hurt my head.
I love the birds but hate the sound.
I wish they'd turn the volume down
At least until the day comes when
I'll love the birdsong once again.

© Charlotte Green

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