For years Babs wanted to draw a bird, but every time she got close to one, found a spot to sit, unsheathed her pencils and secured her easel, they’d fly away. She refused to take it personally, but it happened every single time. She refused to take it personally. Once or twice, though, she was convinced a blue tit swore at her as it left. She refused to take it personally. She refused to take it personally.

© Carl Burkitt 2019

This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2019 – a poem a day celebrating an interesting US national day.