Fiery red breasts
bulging with tenacity,
likely as any dragon's
to hide a torrent of flames.
Staring at the defiant patches of browned grass,
I'm certain they are responsible.
Some days I love their presence,
hopping on the lawn like
dancing flames freed of their candles.
But oftentimes I am shamed in their presence,
as their unflagging industry
fixes a stony, disapproving glare
on the inconstancy of
our once and future selves.
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