The mornings are of wonder

A sweet mention they render

With chirpy birds on a branch

And squirrels tied in a ranch

When waketh a malely matron

Unfurling a bleakly spectron

Of chattering and battering teeth

And a rosy cheeky chewy tweed

While pottering and pattering

There is certain hammering

Shrinking every little pride

Into the oblivion far and wide

Nobody can question the sense

Or the uttering fluttering lens

Of how the two chicks vent

And get their way easily lent

The easy glide on pessimism

Can break the sprightly prism

Making a reality ever so grim

That one can go very crimson

There is no shred of kindness

In a mind of mighty snideness

With no love or wa

The hand on the neck choking

Every thought or not forsaken

One cannot absolutely breathe

There are disdainable frets

Of being a swan among rats