Every third chorus that you sing

Comes out discordant squawk

Not liquid, like your early strains,


But more like bar-room talk.


It sounds like human mockery


Like low scale honky-tonk


All rancid with debauchery,


A river roiled and wrong.


Why not pick out sweet notes to sing,


Oh mimic of mankind?


In a world so rank with harsh mocking,


What do we need with thine?*


Some birds, (poultraicly correct),


Mock on from night to morn;


Their foul derision splats the deck


With never-ending scorn.


Seek not their perch from which to wail


Invoking Heaven’s curse,


Instead, go mock the nightingale;


Why praise the fowler’s hearse?



*don't be critical, I know 'thine' in archaic and also too
small, I just felt like saying it and needed a rhyme


G. Pinkney 2/ 4/ 03


Copyright 2006 Gene Pinkney
No quotes may be used without attribution