What is that mechanical thumping sound
At this early hour in the morning,
When I should be laying quaintly snoring?
On my fragile head it seems to pound
And shake the quiet and untouched ground,
As if, with its artificial boring,
It drills into precious thoughts I’m storing
Of secrets and ideas deeply profound.
Or, wait … Is that a woodpecker out there?
Or, wait … Is that a woodpecker out there?
It is! And how magical the bird seems
Like a mythical creature from a dream,
Redheaded sprite who deftly jabs the air.
Away it flies into dreams and nature,
Away it flies into dreams and nature,
Hidden behind all of what we are sure.
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