TWITTER TITS

‘Twas perhaps a nuthatch,

Pygmy, though,

Frenetically twitting,

Darting to and fro.

Five other frantic tits

chattered in a whirl

making so much noise

I thought it was a squirrel;

but no, there on the trellis,

and in the cherry tree,

flitting, twitting, small dun birds

on a morning spree.

I watched with fascination,

then ran to get my book

in hopes to find their pictures

while I had the chance to look.

Aha, could be a flock of bushtits!

Their bustling, frantic chatter

matching fully the description.

The noise increased…what was the matter?

Then I noticed below the trellis,

hiding in full sight,

Emil Catt sat lurking, stalk still,

hoping for a bite.

The tits did not think to fly away,

they could easily escape.

No, they clustered close together,

scolding Eem’s shining grey nape.

One silly little twit

even scuttled down a stake

taunting my hapless feline friend

who dared not a move to make.

Good, Lord, you noisy peepers,

why not just fly away?

I know you’re guarding nothing.

You just want the last say,

’bout who and what lives in my garden

on any given day!

Well, now your fun is over.

Emil’s gone back in the house,

and you all faded to another yard

to attack some different louse.

So now I have your number.

You love to weave and bob.

You’re not just stealing cherries,

You’re a tiny, twitting mob.