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In those-- this is called
"The Cock and the Choir."

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In those fine days the
cock was in the choir.

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The choristers were
trembling in the leaves.

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The song came out of
wedlock with the weather,

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but they were with seed.

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Now to motionless silence,
the counterpoint that

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rose from throats
exquisitely in tune,

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that raised the mighty
lever of the sun

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while lust turned long,
melodious unto noon.

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All dead are dying.

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Chanticleer, his wives,
the warblers coaxing

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up the rosy day, hid in
their airy palaces of leaves,

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are all taken away.

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The wind will have to recall
their delicate humming,

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murmuring on the
fingers of the bough.

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How he boomed against
them with his drumming

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and shook their nave and
whistled off their vows.

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