*+ uncensored woodland spoken +*

*+ uncensored woodland spoken +*

The bloody birds are too loud
Their squawking a raucous chorus
More football fans than delight doves
No sweet cooing in their terms
Hedgerow obscenities they scream
And this in Autumn with air cold
Not as if they defend a nest
Or some light blue eggs precious
The language extreme they use
Is just disgusting avarian abuse
Discolouring air I breath
Waiting for a train which will not come
I am in an unpleasant mood indeed
Sun is closeted behind drab clouds
Ground is wet and wind chill high
Fingers so numb could not open my fly
An unhappy camper am I
And then these bloody birds start
A screeching crying foul mouthed shout
From limbs on trees and bushes
Such rantings loud and obscene
Bring forth woodland blushes
The blackbirds always seemed so nice
Thrushes in conversation fair
The pigeons never been heard to say
The kind of words they all now share
Perhaps been hanging with seagulls to much
With their salty exclamations rough
For everything now in conversation
Verb or noun or adjective
Is a proclamation filthy
Air is crowded with sh*t and bloody
Words that rhyme with duck
The nightingale of sweet voice
Is acting as if has no choice
Delivers a monologue singular
Of the qualities lacking in the plover
Translated for nicer ears
Implies the plover is no lover
Sticks its beak where it should not
And if the plover had any sense
Would go forth and be fruitful
Before nightingale sees it off
So the tweeting insults fly
Carried forth by verbal assaults
Upon the ears of those who wait
For a train now 20 minutes late.