I hear your buzzing, and it drives me mad,
that soft, incessant humming that you do;
though you are not my enemy (I’m glad),
I’m still tempted to hit you with my shoe.
But I’m resolved to let your buzzing be
(Ha, did you catch that… bee? You are not one)
live and let live as long as there’s no stings.
You really push my human frailty
droning against my window in the sun
fabric chuffing on your beating wings.
I opened up the window for you twice
and shooed you towards it; but you clung there, staid
red body pushed against the glass, a vice
too stubborn to escape when you were bade.
What festers in that tiny brain of yours
that keeps you in, but beats against the wall,
unable to take freedom freely shown,
yet constantly seeks to be out of doors?
Wee russet warrior, you are very small
yet fierce determined, tap, and chuff, and drone.
I could just capture you and set you free
against your will into the sultry air;
but it’s become a test twixt you and me,
and giving in just doesn’t seem quite fair.
So I will sit, and listen to your hum
two feet away from a wide open door,
and contemplate the qualities of glass
and wonder what’s made my ambitions numb,
that I do not push boundaries like before,
but seek the least resistant route bypass.
(c) RCGA 2016