Ode to the Midnight Bird

Here's a poem I wrote the other night while listening to a bird sing through every call imaginable outside of my apartment at 12:30 a.m. Although I found it odd the first night this happened, I'd like to think he lulls me to sleep and is my little friend who stays up late, too.

Ode to the Midnight Bird

O midnight bird

you must be confused

for you've tried every trill in the book

You are much too late

or hours too early

for calls so bright and cheery

But for now keep swelling

while us artists are dwelling

on the night's creativity

Sing with vigor

o midnight bird

before dawn steals the show