Robins, doves and catbirds serenading in the park—
Aimless lilting trills and doleful coos—
Vestiges of fighting songs, no doubt,
From their ancestors, the earthbound basilisks.
What is the import of their mordant phrases,
These to-whitty tweets that pierce the evening air?
Are they remnants from some ancient tragedy,
A birdy Iliad or saurian epic ode?
Or are they merely madness set to music,
The bleats of feathered idiots in lust?
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