Hearing a Hum

It sounds more like a motor Than what I would call a hum, Though a motorbird’s not fitting As the name that it’s become. I first heard it at the flowerpot Before I saw it there, Dipping in the purple blossoms Near my green wrought iron chair. I’m aware that red attracts them, Like a bull on the attack, So the visit was surprising Since true red my flowers lack. Yet perhaps they can’t be choosy As they dart and flit and dip And a bloom that’s pink or purple Might provide a tasty sip. All I know is I was happy That a hummingbird stopped by And it doesn’t really matter If there was a reason why.