Monday Sonnet: Birds

Poe’s raven, from a tree, caws ‘Nevermore,’
While both the swans of Baudelaire and Yeats
Are fighting to be monarchs of the lakes;
Plus, Coleridge’s gull is seen to soar.
And to this aviary of famous plumes
I come with heart in hand, to make an offer:
My heart for wings; be then my burden softer.
The Coole swan sheds his cool and fumes:
‘That heart is broken!’ – says he, spitting bile.
‘But if I don’t get glory,’ I implore,
‘Then will the girl forgive and yield her smile?’
Le Cygne is now triumphant by the shore,
The gull is dead and godless, while
The raven caws its tired ‘Nevermore’…