A draggled wren upon the path
Cried, “When?
January freezes and months must pass
Till Spring shoot bud again.
“All day I creep through hedge and grass
For grubs and ticks in ken,
Goaded by hunger I shout and fuss
When startled by tramping men.
“And I’ll brashly sing to catch a lass
And get with clutch that hen –
Squabbling chicks of voice and pith,
Toughened for life en plein.
“Brute cat, cold crow and sidling kith
All prowl my hedge and fen,
I’ll face them in a scolding huff,
A three-inch bawling wren!”
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© March 2019
