The “VIDEO” bird is chirping lustily,
While up above a Cessna’s drone drifts off,
And now a 707 descends toward me
With others soon to follow, still aloft,
And all this morning ruckus keeps me from
Discovering a poem of any worth,
Leaving my stifled Muse abused and dumb,
Once copious but now, alas, in dearth.
But hark! A sudden stillness has descended,
And maybe now my Muse may reappear—
Perhaps this vast cacophony has ended
And now a channel to the Source is clear.
A single warbler tweets, as if to say,“The stage is yours: you may begin your play.”