It isn’t so much birdsong that I hear
Out the back door, although it comes from birds,
But rather it’s a caucus moved by fear,
A tone expressed almost as clear as words.
Some renegade (most likely it’s a cat)
Is prowling in the yard upsetting them,
An agile and a stealthy acrobat
Possessed by some malevolent stratagem.
But suddenly it’s silent. Danger’s passed.
Then all the ordinary sounds resume
With no more malefactors to be sassed
And nothing signaling impending doom.
The squirrels now caw and chitter as before
With nothing any longer to deplore.