each morning from the old lime tree.
I wonder what he's trying to say?
Stop fucking up. It's not too late.
It's such a happy, joyous sound!
Little bird who chirps so loud
And brightens up my day with song.
Stop standing there. You've not got long.
I wish I could translate your words,
my faithful, a cappella bird,
who sits upon the lime tree bough.
And still you wait. You must act now.
All's quite in the tree today.
I think perhaps he's moved away.
There's silence these days everywhere,
the ghost of birdsong in the air.
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