Birdsong

The noisy birds squawk and squeal,
an out of sync chorus
bent on harmony
as discordant as a traffic jam.

In between the garbled avian speech
I hear a finch and a robin 
announce, “It’s morning!”

In my very vague 4:30 a.m. brain 
I succumb to the sounds
of Creation’s alarm clock
and I am up, 
(in spirit only, the body to 
follow)
rejoicing with them in this new day.

How kind of God to bring such
news with music on the wings of dawn,
a symphony of which I never tire.

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