The Sounds of (

It's a morning of a sound,
ragged like the dusk but
colder, less content with
a job not so well done.
Bad sleep wears a bowtie
and wants to be served.
Appearances [sic]. Turtle
dove-level sadness. Coming
in pairs. The wind implies 
frost promises made by 
a less ancient albatross.
Fledge middle age. Pledge
your desire. Allegiance 
ended up against the wall
not sure if it was holding
up the barrier or waiting
to hold up someone new.