The hummingbirds have stayed away this year
the feeder fouled with crust, suspended ants,
hollyhocks a cleaner vein of nectar.
Beyond the raised garden bed, weeds extant
climbing things, saplings, leafy random plants
flourish, only the back fence to contain
their frenetic impulse to reach, attain
supremacy over this little patch.
It’s with great sadness and no little pain
I surrender — Mother has won this match.