Speaking of birds
I love most creatures that fly in the air.
They sail and they glide with abandon and flair.
They chirp and sing and flutter in their bath.
Their antics are funny, often make me laugh.
But nothing is perfect, there is always one,
That sneaks up behind, straight out of the sun.
And with sure precision he swoops from his bed,
Never missing his mark and poops on my head.
But I can forgive this statement so strong,
For we have polluted his Eden with wrong.