I owned a bird

I owned a bird with an ugly voice
whose song crackled the peace
I had him barred in a cage outside
till he learnt some tunes.
I wanted his melodies,

so I trained him on little tasks.
singing him all the songs I knew.
At first standing near his cage,
I heard him croak like a frog,
muttering, spitting out his seeds.

then I reached him some lettuce,
made him honey with peppermint tea
for his throat. He kept silent.

I schooled him in music,
played him Chopin and Mozart,
a hard apprenticeship in learning to listen.
He flopped on his perch, wing-flapping.
He opened his beak letting out sounds
mingled with the patter of raindrops,
the rush and the hush of the wind
creating his own melodies out of tune.

One night, after a long silence, the final test:
I leant out of my bedroom window.
A full moon. And then when it happened,
first a secretive sound, low in notes,
swelling into a crescendo, higher and higher.
I stood motionless, struck with desire.
I hardly slept. In the morning I put up
the sign: Nightingale for Hire.