A TUG OF WAR

Little wren, I know you love

the eaves above my door,

but you can’t build here.

You trash the place

and even shit on the door handle,

soiling my hand again.

Again I sweep away your embryo

of a nest. You’ll return

to restart your project.

Little rascal, I won’t let you

pile mud and grass here.

Even friends cannot share everything.

There are eaves everywhere.

Why are you so determined

to settle above my door?