Each sunset is lovely
In its own way,
Except when the sky
Is all colored in gray.
The birdhouse collapsed
On three sides of four.
There it rests as a ruin
For me to abhor.
My neighbor says no
He will not take it down,
And there it still stands
Awaiting my frown.
My best view of sunset
The house must include,
And I sit here and ponder
Why neighbor's so rude.
Must be a Trump voter, dude. :-)
ReplyDeleteActually, our neighbor is among the few who, with us, was not a Trump supporter.
DeleteI'm a bit embarrassed by my silly poem, but it came to me, and I thought what the hell.
Once you reach 80, you get a pass on all annoyance and silliness and various flights of fancy ... rhyme on, my friend.
DeleteThanks, Marthe. Age has its privileges, including inflicting silly poems on one's friends.
DeleteLove the photo and the poem. Reading more into the poem than you intended tho.
ReplyDeleteYou may be right. The poem came so quickly, I'm not sure what I intended besides expressing annoyance that the birdhouse is in my pictures.
Delete