Sheena Adalja,
With a dramatic flourish
Swept the back of her hand
To her forehead
In a groaning lament, nearly in tears,
As she saw her straw pillbox hat...
Blown by a wind gust...
Land in a street puddle,
Where it floated like half a walnut shell.
But worse, a bird with a recycler's eye
And a tight talon's grip swooped down,
Grabbed it and flew it to a tree,
Knowing Darwin would surely have applauded,
Its use as a nest, 
Insuring the survival of the species,
Better than as a useless frippery 
Perched on Sheena's head.