How do I love you? Cheeky bird, I don’t.
That folksy orange breast quite turns me off,
Your chirping’s uninspiring and I won’t
Buy more supplies of seeds for you to scoff.
With greedy eye awaiting grub or worm
You coyly hop beside me as I dig.
On calendars and cards you make me squirm,
Ubiquitous, with snow and holly twig.
A slinking tom has learned that you have got
Too confident. I watch him spring. Beneath
His claws you soon expire. You’ve had your lot.
Bedecked with catnip like a pungent wreath
At least you’ll help to fertilise my plot,
So I will like you better after death.