He zips in, takes a sip
His long tongue rippling
The sweet drink
Backs up, forward again
Then zip, he’s gone
Should a rival dare to sip
His nectar sweet and fine
He’ll chase the interloper off
He declares: All five feeders are mine!
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Today for Quadrille Monday at dVerse Poets Pub, Mish has given us the word sip to work with. No guzzling or quaffing today. I decided to share a little something about our territorial little friend who guards his stash of nectar fiercely.