What's O'Clock/Morning Song, with Drums
MORNING SONG, WITH DRUMS
The pheasants cry in the dawn, Mocking the glitter of the nearby city Struck upon the sky.
Ivy in a wind, Smooth grass, Old cedar-trees.
Change is a bitter thing to contemplate Across a grey dawn. Puff-ball world, forsooth, A kick and it is broken into smoke.
The pheasant's cry is raucous in the dawn.