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At first, as though our home
were chosen by angels,
we felt blessed, played host
to our cherubic guests,
fed them homemade ambrosia,
admired their finery—
ruby helmets, emerald armor.
Should we have seen that they
were dressed for battle?
When every day they gulped our
sweetness fast as we could
pour it, when the saucy birds
grew bold and big, and more came
every day, should we have guessed
the territory wars were on?
No sooner now does one zip up
but three more whiz around the corner,
poised to strike, wings cupped capelike,
tail-feathers fanned, their summer spent
engaged in endless reckonings,
while we, who blithely invited
tyrants to our garden,
dodge the small swords indoors
and pray for early fall.