Clover Mite

Sitting alone on the bricks,
Eight legs crouched low and close,
Eating from the chosen flower;
Yellow tufts of delicious flavor
Electrify the sense of taste.
Little bits slide backward,
Light swallows helping to move them
On a digestive journey.
Warblers nearby cause alarm,
Plucking through the flowers with their beaks,
Looking for his distinctive red hue.
Alone he sat, safely on the bricks,
Nearly sure he was safe until the human approached.
To be sure, it wasn't how he expected to die.