The Pen and The Wind

The birds sit in fragile nests,
Atop their trees they are twittering,
What sounds sweet to us, are obscenities,
They scream at each other to not come near,
Lest their their home woven of rotten twigs, 
Be compromised.

The birds are twittering,
Making every forest lousy with noise,
While they stay rooted in their nests,
Feet sank in the branches,
With moon and sun in the skies,
The birds twittering echoing through the atmosphere.

And they must keep at it,
They must continue their noise pollution,
Lest the veil of silence fall over the world,
And like ripples in a pool of water become still,
And capable of reflection,
They must keep their angry songs,
For they are terrified of the image that silence does reflect.