Morning's a conservatoire rehearsal space -
the sun's baton galvanises bird-musicians
waiting in the gums and mangroves,
melts the night's penumbral dome
into limpid gold and rose, shimmering
across the river's tranquil, slightly wrinkled
face, as vantage points on every tree
host amateurs' enthusing din,
the dulcet and mellifluous
compete with interjecting crows
who croak off-key cacophonies
to celebrate the day, their way,
while finches twitter in the bushes,
ducks exult with honking praise
and from the throats of troubadours
issue lilting serenades.