#98
Spring's Ambush
When blackbirds come in numbers,
You know Spring has arrived:
They settle in the white pines,
Swamp feeders with their greed,
Knocking them to pieces,
Spilling all the seed.
Their mating cries are raucous
And fill the springtime air;
They poop on all the garden gnomes
And sometimes in my hair.
Would to God the blackbirds
Would find another land,
Preferably way out to sea
On someone else's strand--
Though,
When blackbirds come in numbers,
Spring you know's at hand.