Weird Poem

There is a bird outside my window,
That sings every morning
The date of my death,
And the tale of how I will die,
But he sings it in bird language,
Which I don't know.
I think the sound is nice anyway.

What does this mean? I have no idea- probably nothing. I was literally crawling into bed when that basic idea popped up fully formed in my mind. Any thoughts?

Maybe I'll drop in another weird poem or two from time to time, if I decide I like this one.