The Old Grouch

Sparrows on my fence,
finches all around,
they're searching for food
and scratching the ground.

I'm rather busy;
I'm reading the news;
don't puff your feathers
or sing dreary blues.

I know it's quite cold
but don't bother me.
I'll sit on the couch
and drink my hot tea.

The clouds are gloomy
and winds start to blow;
I grab a blanket
and watch embers glow.

Your eyes are piercing,
stop staring this way.
I'll close the curtains
and sit here all day.

The weather is fierce;
the fence starts shaking;
Feathers are ruffled
and trees are quaking.

Ice is now forming;
I blast the heater;
I trudge through the snow
and fill the feeder.