It Likes my Wreath

For three straight nights when I’ve unlocked my door,

It explodes past my ear with a deafening roar
Of beating wings, and frantic cries.
I flinch and I duck in reactive surprise
As into the night it frantically flies.
A sparrow has selected my bright autumn wreath
Of red/orange leaves to hide underneath.
My door is well-lit and I’m sure it expects
An unlimited feast of gourmet insects.
I sincerely hope it’s here only to rest -
Please not a squatter intending to nest!
But hey – who’d consider this sparrow a pest?
I welcome with warmth my fine-feathered guest.

Will Walsh