'i'm right behind you',
chirped Mrs. Blackbird,
with belly speck'd ecru
her nape feather furred

she stood in the shadow
'neath privet hedge
overlooking a meadow,
grass, buttercup, 'n vetch

he was silent,
head askance
look, intense,
as if in trance

then, waxing violent,
legs in dance,
in thrilling suspense,
his bill a lance

with hell-bent obsession
a drill in progression
making accession
in swift succession

yellow beak struggled
with fat 🐛
quietly snuggled
beneath garden tiller

'twas an uneven fight
for poor little mite
in one swift bite
his day turn'd night

now he dangled,
head now mangled,
chicks wrangling
mouths angling

And from side portal,
Time gave small chortle
o'er combat mortal
of cycle immortal