machinery dawn

[breathtest]

No birds cry outside my window
gently nestled on branches
No creatures conversing
squeeking in song and language
Only the rough humming of
machinery

[billl]

An effective little poem. At the end, there's plenty to imagine, and you've made it clear what definitely isn't there.

And I really envy the great time the speaker would have on a hike, or a weekend in the country somehow.