Why do these odes make such a dainty choice, <br />'Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird, ' <br />of metaphors in measure? The human voice <br />favors—so to sing—feathers made-to-word <br />to lift such lilting melodies through time <br />in delicate woodnotes, fluent and flush, <br />chirping like warblers in full-throated rhyme: <br />skylarks, nightingales and darkling thrush. <br /> <br />Skylarks, my coxcomb! Why must songs ignore <br />my blazing bursts? Who crows the nights to day, <br />rousing the sun, from top the hen-house door? <br />If falsetto poets spend no ink to praise <br />how brilliantly chanticleer ignites the dawn, <br />I'll lift my neck one day and merely yawn.<br /><br />William F Dougherty<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/chanticleer-s-complaint/
