Facing Failure

My crumbling castle 
is perched on a hill. 
Hidden from the road 
by long ago planted 
climbing roses, 
I sit silent sentinel 
on a rusty bench, 
this time of year 
looking down into 
beds of pickup trucks 
full of planks and plants, 
repair for old things, 
beginnings of new.

Nearby, a nesting wren 
is flummoxed because 
the small hole 
in the bird house 
won’t accommodate 
her lovingly carried long twig. 
Repeated attempts 
to make it fit fail. 
Tiny avian wisdom 
accepts unyielding reality. 
Dropping her burden, 
she perches on the fence, 
and sings.