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*With apologies to Edgar Allen Poe and his poem "The Bells"

**But still without any apologies from the birds or anyone else

"The Birds"


Hear the chirping of the birds—

Noisy birds!

What a way to make my morning rough as I'm bestirred!

How they're cheeping, cheeping, cheeping,

From the early morning dawn!

While I'd rather still be sleeping,

Chirp chirp chirp is what I'm reaping

And it just goes on and on;

With their squawk, squawk, squawk,

In a high-pitched tweeting talk,

A cacophonous concordance that's the avian form of words

From the birds, birds, birds, birds,

birds, birds, birds—

From the squawking and the talking of the birds.


Hear the tweeting of the birds,

Chirpy birds!

What a wacky siren song that makes my night absurd!

Like a tiny car alarm,

"Beeeeooo, Beeeeooo," they sing with charm!

And okay, I've stayed up late,

As you will note,

So this birdsong is my fate,

I can't get to sleep with all this noise I hate,

From their throats!

Would that it had not occurred,

What a bunch of sharp and shrill disruptions I've incurred!

How absurd!

What I've heard

It's my sleep again deferred

And my ears I'll thus begird

With the horrible little warbles

Of the birds, birds, birds,

Of the birds, birds, birds, birds,

birds, birds, birds—

With the chirping and the squirping of the birds!


Hear the droning of machines—

Loud machines!

What a stupid sound that sunders Saturdays serene!

In the early morning hours

By some gas and pull-strings powered,

They're still touching up their lawn,

I wish they were gone, gone,

Those leafblowers,

With their loud and ceaseless buzzing just to move a couple leaves,

With a high-pitched metal whine for hours just to move some leaves,

I'm aggrieved, aggrieved, aggrieved,

And it seems there's no reprieve,

It's been going on since morning

Now—now my ire aborning,

At the lawnmowers and leaf blowers,

Damn machines! Mean! Mean!

Auditorily obscene,

And unfair!

How they buzz, and whine, and roar!

What a horror they outpour

On the erstwhile peaceful quiet of the air!

And I suddenly realize,

By their droning,

And my groaning,

That before I was not wise,

For with everything I've seen

With their sounding

Now rebounding

Through the once bucolic scene

I would gladly swap the blowers and the mowers, these machines,

For the birds—

For the birds, birds, birds, birds,

birds, birds, birds—

I would rather have the blather of the birds!

Seth Brown is an award-winning humor writer, the author of "The Disapproval Of My Toaster,, and is just trying to get some sleep, for the love of God, Montresor! His website is


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