Somewhere out there in the
dark is heard
I wonder why he can't sleep at this hour so late,
Like me is he too restless with his fate?
Certainly it is just the nature of his living,
That day and night song his way of giving?
Unlike me he has no fatigue.
Who at this hour will listen to his intrigue?
But then, I am hearing, you see,
So thanks for your wistful glee.
Silly old bird high atop my tree,
Past mid-night and your song's just for me.