Birdsong - and how we killed poetry

Around a dozen of us who have been friends since our youth, and sometimes camp together, share a Whatsapp group.

It doesn’t have a name, but I call it the Annabel channel as she is the founder.

Sometimes it’s very serious – articles about the history of the Ukraine: sometimes we are taking our mind off life with trivia.  Or, in this case, the beauty of the world around us:-

Annabel:

I stand on the station platform and search for the birds overhead belting out their messages every morning. Yesterday I stood right underneath the loudest Great Tit I'd ever heard, hopping about in the tree above me. So active while making so much noise!

Me:

I reckon there are 2 to 3 haiku there. Get cracking.

 

Mike took up the challenge:

Dazzled by birdsong:

I wait for the morning train.

Nearby, some Great Tits.

 

Me:

I really liked the first two lines, but the third sounded weird.

 

Annabel has a go:

'Trainwaiting, workbound,

Soulsoothed by birdsong.

Treehigh, some Great Tits'

 

Annabel tests positive with covid but gamely has another go at a haiku (priorities!)

'Train-waiting, work-bound,

Soulsoothed by birdsong, I seek

Tree-high, a Great Tit'

 

Mike has meanwhile returned to the drawing board and comes up with his master work:

Waiting for the train:

stupid birds, what a racket.

Trod in a dog-turd.

 

Having succeeded in killing the poetry I retire smugly.

If there is any moral to be drawn from this ill-starred literary venture, I think it is this:

Don’t try to include great tits in a haiku.