Mimicking a hummingbird, its wings bombinate with hovering,
making itself welcome to our hydrangea blossoms.
Out of its innate knack for subterfuge and duplicity,
It has been allowed access to our flowers and their nectar,
even though it was never our intention to invite that family.
“It’s not a bird. It’s a moth.”
It’s ugly. That awful face and fat body.
All brown and black.”
“Shall I kill it?”