Ode to the Bird

I woke early one morning The Earth lay cool and still When suddenly a tiny bird Perched on my window sill, He sang a song so lovely So carefree and gay, That slowly all my troubles Began to slip away He sang of far-off places Of Laughter and fun, It seemed so very trilling, Brought up the morning sun. I stirred beneath the covers Crept slowly out of bed, And gently lowered the window And crushed its fucking head I do not like mornings. -- Not my poem. Sadly I do not know who the original author was, otherwise I would give where it was due.