Imagine if the robin mounted a campaign
Asking all the other birds, “Please could you refrain
From singing your own silly songs to see the morning in?
No-one can hear my sweet voice. You’re making such a din!
Birds should sing the same song, as if we were one voice.
So let’s all sing the robin’s song – that seems the obvious choice!”
At first, the other birds all thought, “That robin’s gone quite barmy.”
Until the robin found himself a vicious raptor army.
He promised hawks rich pickings if they, as his platoon,
Silenced all the other birds or made them sing his tune.
It’s hard to sing your own song when you’re quivering with fear.
And so, one day, the robin’s was the only voice to hear.
Imagine if you woke to hear birds singing all as one
The morning chorus – organised – not nearly so much fun!
The songbirds sing from scoresheets now, knowing when they’re beaten
Birds who sang their own sweet songs were birds who soon got eaten.
Would we miss rich varied calls that filled the morning air
If we woke at sunrise and the chorus wasn’t there?
What about the robin? Would he enjoy his power?
In setting rules for other birds and preening while they cower?
Or might pride fade and gloating pall
As fear set in that he might fall?
He must know the raptor army, that laughs behind his back
Regards this pumped-up kingling as a tasty future snack?
What do I do when I know my small voice has been drowned out
In the crowded twitterverse?
Do I start to shout? Or listen to the chorus and learn that there is value
Not only in you hearing me
But in me