this hole can not be patched
with plaster, mud or straw

sweet little birdies they come
bring their hearth and home
warmth, love, and soft down

the weather turns and the days grow short
and away blows the sweet familiar of their song

again it gapes
empty and forlorn
no house, no home.

how i wish to cover
with tiny doors, soft curtains and warm embrace
this drafty open wound

come back sweet little birds
and fill us with sweet songs

bring your majesty
calamity
to this hovel built for two