Cock-Crow

By Kenneth Slessor

THE cock's far cry

From lonely yards

Burdens the night

With boastful birds

That mop their wings

To make response—

A mess of songs

And broken sense.

So, when I slept,

I heard your call

(If lips long dead

Could answer still)

And snapped-off thoughts

Broke into clamour,

Like the night's throats

Heard by a dreamer.