Those pigeons flew towards shelter brew,
Each night naked roofs donned in feathers,
Was it then how silly, the tap of rain knew:
As a drop down modest wings slithers,
A quiet lamp lit these and all ambers fall,
Grief was what some is shallow they call,
Yet birds who escape; their might is ball
As each beak darts, all eyes break fall:
For groups of them by branches clung,
Their melodies on Venus flow and sweet,
Each rising note broke leaves dared hung,
Fell the notes and each heart bursts beat.
Even thrushes tweet on a raindew night,
Whilst other readers claim it sorrows,
Ere the turn of night, brisked cold wet,
Hear, hear the song of birds command!
Why now this brow if it's all you let?
Our mortal muses sombre mortal band.

Even if such nights be still, days be frost,
All the while they sing, pigeons glare anew.
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