[George Simmers]

I gave up trying to make the nightingale Keatsian, so made him a bit of a chav instead.

Darkling I've listened, too, while you orate
About my warbling till I've grown quite shirty.
John, mate, I'm singing to attract a mate,
Not “pouring forth my soul”- just being flirty.
That's what birds do. You think it's “rich to die”?
Well, we like life ('cause birds' lives are not long)
And it should need no genius to know why
We sing the old old song -
You're in a gloomy and romantic muddle.
Why not hop round to Fanny's for a cuddle?

Or hop somewhere. The lovely female birds
Won't come here if a poet's by my tree.
They want some action, not your gloopy words -
So kindly leave me be
To maximise my chance of jig-a-jig,
Before the day when I fall off my twig.