The Descent of the Metal drum

Each to their own
He says as he
Hurls the drum over the stairs
And it sounds on the rails
Then it sails

Down following
The tail of the wren
Who was startled
As its home
Down at the brook
That morning violently
Shook then erupted
In feathers and blood

And mother wren had no patience
For the drum
She ignored the crumbs of
Her husbands remorse
Then speeding as a horse
She made to confront
The metal object

That as it splashed
In the brook
Her quivering anger
Became instead a look
It drum sank and her will at last shook

that man meanwhile
Sits polishing off the
Coffee as he turns in
And turns on
Good old reliable Telly.