“The birds will wake you up!” they said.

I’d doubted that, but yes, it’s true -

no sooner have the stars all fled

than osprey cries come piercing through

the speaker in the wooden shed

that guards the tree where they have bred

for many years, successfully bred.

 

This week I’ve more than filled my quota

of opening up the eyes of tourists.

Last night was my slot on the rota

to sleep out deep in the old pine forest,

deprived of teapot, stove, or toaster, 

far from sound of man or motor,

spared of sound of man or motor.

 

The wake-up call that brutally knifes

right through my dreams is the “food pass” shout

when the male brings breakfast to his wife

to cement their bond - a nice fat trout.

Though rival males can cause some strife,

the research shows they pair for life:

whilst both survive they pair for life.

 

The hen-bird, now unequivocally wed

may snuggle down in her three egg nest

secure in the faith she’ll always get fed

and cosset herself in a day of rest

while I, a day of work ahead,

must rise up from this lonely bed,

must rise up from this lonely bed.