The birds had had enough of singing
about their territorial
disputes; they yearned to write their thoughts.
After the snow which fell one night,
a sheet of white stretched out across
the surface of the silent garden.
A robin broke the stillness with
a carefully constructed haiku
about the suffering of robins.
A sparrow wrote a manifesto
entitled Death to All the Cats;
a chaffinch offered her critique.
A thrush composed some smutty jokes
on nominative determinism
and signed off with I’m here all week.
The rain soon fell and covered all
their little works with wet full-stops,