The Wren Poem by chris ryder

he flutters around from branch to branch
quick as a dart
gone in a flash
he sits upon your fork

waiting for the earth to be tilled
to grab such nourishment from the ground
to feed its family
it risks contact with you

he flutters down to the ground
picks at the newly turned soil
its vision great and amazingly perceptive
it makes its choice pick

so quick its beak attacks the soil
like that of a maddened beast
picking and scraping away at the loose soil
collecting what it can

picky in its choice but for good reason
the summer is ending
the season of death soon begins
it must prepare and barricade itself for the coming winter

tis a brave creature that defends itself so vehemently
yet gives so much away to protect itself