Birds
by James Harvey
Suppose a flock of birds sing prose
Opposed to verse by murderous crows,
Or covey of quail, gaggle of geese,
A peep of chickens, or hawks on lease.
Imagine rasps of guinea fowl
Squawk and squabble like parliament owl;
Ascending larks' loud exaltation;
Or starlings whir in murmuration.
But what rite is the spring of teal
Or wisp of snipe, which seems unreal?
Are Lapwing false in their deceit?
No doubt doves dole is but conceit.
This game of swans is just a cluster;
Magpie tidings won't peacocks muster.
A siege of cranes can not assail
The day watch of the nightingale.
Yet ere we're reined by plain refrain,
(As V-shaped geese in flying skein),
There's something gained despite the harm
When Nature's loosed by finches' charm.
Fools like God create mere birds
But only man can make up words.
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