July (or, Yes I’ve read about ant guards, but the poem’s long enough as it is).

July
  (or, Yes I’ve read about ant guards, but the poem’s long enough as it is).

I hung a hummingbird feeder low,
Upon a curved wrought iron bow,
With tines to push into the soil,
Standing boot work, not too much toil

Sure hummingbirds did come around,
But not too long before I found
It growing algae, water plants,
And a dozen small black floating ants

To clean it was the thing to do,
I hung it back in an hour or two,
But it took less time for the algae to grow back,
Nectar water well peppered, drowned ants of black

Certainly I’ve seen the hummingbird since,
He prefers to fly straight by, and wince,
So I took the hummer’s feeder down,
It was just too gross, left hanging around

Yet still an ant will climb the iron,
Though there’s no nectar there to find,
I wonder does he pine for the day,
  When with summer sweet sugar algae
He could climb in,
  And float away