The Visitor

She had her nest
In the climbing rose out front
She carefully guarded her roost
Morning and day
Squawking if I came near
To water the flowers
Or use the water hose
I would peer out the bay window to see her I her nest
Then one day she's gone
The nest still there
But she's not there
Was she tired of the bustle?
Tired of the hustle?
Just an empty nest
So to speak.

While weeding I see her still
Where's your nest now?

Leave a comment