the joy last

the birds
are fat in the yard.
they teeter
with red and blue
bellies
on the wooden fence.
the feeders
are full but not for long,
the suet gnawed on
and broken
by squirrels
and raccoons
a woodpecker or two.
too much, perhaps?
are we upsetting
the world
beyond our grasp by
making life
too easy? so much
is about
the struggle, the hunt
that makes
the joy last.