In Atlanta the water flood-up high, high.
In Australia, another dust storm is coming.
And outside me window, the September 2 a.m. bird come back. He does sing the whole night...yes, night...because in Guyana, once it is dark, we does call it 'night'. He does shet he eyes, raise he trote to the sky, and fling out he songs.
He is out there now, hiding this time, belting out insults to me in a voice full o' honey and cream. He been there all night.
Normally I can see he, so I does stand at me bedroom window and glare. But now I can't see he. The last time I glare, about a year or two ago, I been so cross from lack o' sleep I slam the window hard. The glass nearly crack. The bird continue to sing.
Sky clearing now, he gone to sleep.