In early hours of morning,
Still in darkness at break of dawn,
I am roused from sleeping by birds,
Singing in trees across the lawn.

The hidden birds are waking up,
Each feathered friend has its say,
They are now chirping what to do,
Before they fly off for the day.

Their singing seems to never end,
And their chatter I faintly keep,
In the drowsiness of my mind,
Before I drift off back to sleep.