A raucous morning concerto(Beethoven would have laughed)
White and black cockatoos begin the round.
The sun isn’t even peeking up over the tree horizon.
Many delicate trills and arpeggios cascade
from our faithful butcher bird.
Some un-named feathered flute chimes in.
Lorikeets let forth a trumpet solo
and don’t forget the raven’s pitiful lament,
rather like a failing french horn.
So many chirps, twitters, hoots, echoing back and forth,
conducted by the now glorious sun.
