there were birds/ in the trees/ but I never heard them singing . . .

No, I never heard them at all
'Til . . .

. . . it was 11:48 and I was thinking about going to sleep!

A group of birds is having a concert outside my window.

It's almost midnight.

I think they are post-modern birds who have abandoned the constraint of a singing schedule. The sun? That is neither here nor there. One must sing when one feels like singing.

Imagine if all animals went post-modern and abandoned absolute animal truths.

Hmmmmmmmmmm . . .

Well, song over. I guess I could try observing that quasi-absolute truth about eight hours of sleep.