The birds' shrill fluting br Beats on the pink blind, br Pierces the pink blind br At whose edge fumble the sun's br Fingers till one obtrudes br And stirs the thick motes. br The room is a close box of pink warmth. br The minutes click. br A man picks across the street br With a metal-pointed stick. br Three clocks drop each twelve pennies br On the drom of noon. br The birds end. br A child's cry pricks the hush. br The wind plucks at a leaf. br The birds rebegin.