Little Bird

Walking down the street one day
a pair of sandals caught my eye.
Why, I thought, I’ve just been paid,
I’ll treat myself- then I must fly.

From the shop I soon emerged
clasping my prize to my chest.
Up above, I spied a bird
clutching sticks to build a nest.

Suddenly he made a dive,
crashed into my precious load.
The contents after which I’d strived
now lay scattered on the road.

Muttering, I picked one up,
placed it in the fallen bag.
The other one would not budge;
a loose strap was caught on a snag.

I tugged too hard and heard a tear;
the main part of the shoe was freed.
What was left I could not wear
that little bird had done the deed.

I trudged away, shoes in hand
looking for a bin or skip.
My day had not gone as planned,
but I could overlook this blip.