One Sunday Morn

I hear the distant rattle

Of an impact wrench

One quiet Sunday morn

 

As the noise continues

For a minute, perhaps more

I wonder what is so stuck

 

So gabbing my cane I hurry

Along my quarter-mile path

To see about this difficult chore

 

But upon my arrival

I find no one about

And the sound from yon

 

Returning along my lengthy path

I find the noise is not a wrench at all

But a woodpecker in my tree.