Every season, I would try to sing, but
Out of tune,
Out of rhythm,
Out of breath.
I never wanted to learn-
What’s the use?
Out of pitch,
Out of harmony,
Out of tempo.
Day by day,
I would play out onto the open field, where my next meal lay
Innocent like a pig,
Ravaged by a group of humans.
Month by month,
The leaves would fall,
Just like the feathers of my youth.
Year by year,
While the others were learning:
Articulation,
Dynamics,
Melody,
I wouldn’t care.
Spring,
Summer,
Fall,
Winter.
Five years have passed,
All my friends have families-
Around spring,
I see them build their homes,
For their many children-
Why don’t I have a mate?