"My heart aches, and a drowsy" blah, blah, blah.
The way you moony bards can yammer on!
Whatever you may fancy, it's not joie
De vivre that has me singing here, cher Jean.

"Not born for Death?" With predators aprowl?
A two-year lifespan is my "happy lot"—
That is, if I don't cross a tawny owl,
Who'd tear me into pieces on the spot,

Or meet a slow demise by cat or snake.
Worse yet, some night-blind blunderer like you
Might flail around declaiming verse and break
My fledglings' necks. You say "Adieu, adieu!"

Yet still you stand here. For the love of God,
I'm in my prime. A bachelor. And it's June.
My motto's carpe noctem, you poor sod,
So scram! I've got a mate to find, and soon.