I Don't Need Any Music by B.C. Marshington

I Don't Need Any Music

When the songbirds
Are playing their flutes,
Weaving their sweet symphony
Around the cuckoo's drum beat;

When the poignantly pink
Melody of the sunrise
Is engulfing the world
In its soft, sad flames;

When the ugly cacophony
Is once again drowned out
By the song of uncertain victory
Whose vigorous sound roused the day -

No music can compare.