A back yard rife with ferns and moss,
Rosemary and garlic gone to seed...
A garden shed with rusted doors
And lions' teeth no one will weed.
What raccoons' refuge rests untroubled
Beneath the realm these crows oversee?
How can we molest this sanctuary for squirrels and starlings?
Who dares disturb the happiness of bees?
©2011 Alan P. Scott. All rights reserved.
Last updated April 17, 2011