Little bird sits
down wind at dusk
Observing all
the worst of us

Feeding her babies
and preening her fears
She keeps an eye on the danger
of all that she hears

Just under a roof
and safer than some
Her nest is the proof
Nature's under the gun

Twigs wrapped in trash
make an odd little bed
and there's a stranger stash
of food which is fed

She cannot ignore
their little beak cries
and drops in each one
a bit of French fries