Little Birds

Little birds I could not name,

In the bushes at my feet;

Flitting, flitting all the same,

Busy while I text and tweet.

And though myself I try to shush,

Another tweet I’ll be damned;

And now with two in the bush,

I see the worth of one in hand.

Across the ether words I fly,

Flitting, flitting all along;

While little birds I’m sitting by,

Instead of tweeting lose their song.

Now out of hand little birds,

They seem to mock me in the dirt,

And while I send my silly words,

Instead of tweeting at me they chirp.