The din disturbed my sleep at ten to six.
It issued from a raucous flock of crows.
I like their shiny black, their clever tricks,
but noise and splats of shit I don’t receive
so well. There doesn’t seem to be a fix –
I garden-dwell and that has downsides too.
So now I’m up too early, writing this
by lamplight as the dawning sunshine grows,
awake evading news of politics.