That was Thursday; this is Monday

The birds agree; the birds agree:
Though it be dark, the dawn they see.
One short weekend divides spring's dawns
From last week's silent winter morns.
A yet unsweet avian chorale
Hints gracelessly the time is nigh
For daily hymns to raise morale
As winter's end ends night time's sigh.
Foolish birds, as dim as night,
Know ye not that mornings bright
Herald days of thankless flight
To feed your ever hungry brood
Whose every thought is thought of food
Not once of your or my good mood.