SATURDAY NIGHT

Bored and tired on a Saturday night, trying to focus steamed concentration on the words and the bees whilst a Song Thrush sits upright in the remains of the trees, like some kind of proud and dignified soldier.

It's singing.

It sings all night everynight and I don't know why it bothers.

Perhaps to jump the queue for a girlfirend for Spring.

Or perhaps it likes to do what it does

Or perhaps it thinks it's a fucking musician or something