I'm not talking about that huge truck,
They call the Hum V.
I'm talking about that diminutive bird,
That flies like a bee.
He happened upon my backyard,
One evening last week.
And feasted on his find,
His hunger was not meek.
My Rose of Sharon is afraid of dying,
It's being crowded out.
Like the old peach tree before it,
That lost its last bout.
And so it's blooming like crazy,
Heading off the end.
Procreate before you die,
A lifeline not broken, it'll just bend.
Beneath it two Lucky Plants:
One dormant. One in full bloom.
It may be jealousy for one,
The other may siestaing at noon.
The purple perennial with forgotten name,
Has always been a magnet.
It's sweet nectar available,
For whatever comes and gets it.
The young peach is struggling too,
To show its blossoms proud.
Before new leaves overtake them,
And the summer bakes the ground.
With this Horn O' Plenty,
The hummer drank his fill.
Resting occasionally on a dead branch,
Reinforcing his will.
To head once again north,
To that distant place.
Where he will catch his mate,
Nest, and perpetuate his race.
Late at night, we heard the sound,
Of another hummer, coming round.
Light flowing in our windowpanes.
And we afraid, no sleep, nor peace was found.
Until, in light of day
It went away, and we went back to work
Longing for that little hummer,
That flew without a sound.
Copyright 1999 (c) Ronald W. Hull