Her off tune ratcheting warns me... That my piegon toed walk
has me stumbling into someone else's lair.
It's my barn - her home, stuffed between old gouged out rafters
supporting empty mason jars... Now suited as a nest of twigs and twilled up peices of my hair.
You know she's protecting her brood, perched one nervous yard away,
looking stern and harsh right at me - more than not will change my mood. It's the ywo of us protecting land and beam.
She's queen over her domain, and lets me know, that I've intruded
on a wren ! The quirk in her chatter bids me a hurried retreat....
It's better served that I don't ever come this way again !