Oh, croaking bloke beneath the moon
so like a toad, it makes me swoon
whence "ChirRUP!" rises like balloon
which euphony just fills me with delight

Beneath my window every evening,
the dish of night's picante seasoning,
the soft "ChirRUP!" I find so pleasing
commencing 'pon the fading of the light

Placidly it comes, the presence
with the evening's supple pleasance
a "ChirRUP!", mellow beyond measance
from someone 'neath my window, out of sight.

I know of those whose souls are burdened
who're prone to start and feel consterdened
when bloke near window they have heardened
but I've no need for being so uptight.

For tender is the twilight mood
whence blissful metaphors of food
from placid "ChirRUP!" are construed.
Such beauty, I donut connect with fright.

Tho' others shoo him from their windows
I hope wherever I go, him goes
whose "chirRUP!" fills me like pimentos;
the sausage in the jumbalaya of night!

NOTE: The poet wishes it to be known that he had wanted to add more references to food, but unfortunately the muse had departed.

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