Because the birds have something to say

There’s a camelia flower, rust colored, dreary

Holding on, not yet relinquishing the green sap stem

And the bright white blossoms of the plum tree

Have snow-flake fallen, or cling with wilted longing

The wind howls and rages

And the threat of dropping limbs hang ominously

In my mind

But the birds call amongst the clamor

- for now, the magpies harp the loudest -

[For] it all continues on

There’s no lament for the weary flower

No weeping for the blossoms

And my cry against the battering gale

Would be carried away in the sweeping wind

I recall the honey-eater that sung glory to the dawn

At 5.24 this morning

Which punctuated the full bladder and awoke the unresolved nagging questions

That opportunistically set up camp in my foggy, sleep deprived mind

And which piped as persistently as the honey-eater

Til sleep crept in once more

At days end, with Monday morning pressing in

And the piles of washing, of dust, of dishes building up

What a dark horizon of duty

Of which, the cockatoos are oblivious

As they scutter through the sky in raucous noise.

[For] it all continues on

And so, to this day that was soggy with crabbiness

To this time of struggle, of soaring

To all the wilting, failing and falling -

I hear the birds call out against the setting sun

These testimonies of aerodynamic artistry

Who take a last-stand in memory of the day

With a piercing song that carries across the

gathering dark -

[For] it all continues on