Blue Tits

Blue **** are singing outside my bedroom window, Every time I look there seems to be a bird you know, And their vocalisations make me aware of myself, Under the cuff sometimes and only on a shelf; They take me to nature, that vast canopy bright, Into truth and morality’s mechanisms of height, For a glimpse of who I am essentially, credentially, Unknown to me otherwise, were it not for that tit truly, Longing to get on with it, I go, more of my seeds to sow.