No Roost

Nailed it up myself, I swear,

last spring, with careful might.

But one side sagged, a tilted prayer,

a sad, lopsided sight.

A robin tried to perch, poor fool,

its small feet lost their grip.

It flapped away, a broken rule,

a project made to slip.

Cobwebs now, a dusty shroud,

where little birds should make their nest.

Another thing I built, out loud,

that just couldn't pass the test.