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In my vegetable garden,
birds are watching me, pick
green beans to eat.
A lone robin, scrounges for seeds, from sun flowers.
An old, twisted oak tree,
filters the sunlight.
The cool, filtered light,
is just right, for my garden.
Beneath that oak tree,
are ripe tomato’s I need to pick,
for my supper. Mr. Robin flits upwards to a sun flower.
He’s found his seeds and eats.
His fill, he’ll eat
and rest in the moon’s light.
Ms. Deer gnaws only, flowers,
as I leave the garden.
No doubt, if I hadn’t picked
My vegetables, already he’d be devouring them, beneath that shady tree.
I chased her to a distant tree;
tossed her an apple to eat.
She’ll be back to take her pick
More, I know, by the evening moon’s light.
She’ll return to devour my garden;
and will also, eat the flowers.
I plant bulbs and flowers,
away from my garden and the tree;
hoping Ms. Deer, will avoid, my garden;
preferring to go and eat,
by the evening moon’s light;
while I sit with my guitar and pick.
Tomorrow, if they’re not eaten,
I’ll go out and pick,
a nice bouquet of table flowers,
in morning sun’s, bright light.
As it filters though the trees,
that grow beside my garden.
When evening comes, my guitar I’ll pick, in the waning moon’s dim light.
Ms. Deer, her fill, of flowers, will eat.
Oak tree beds down, for the night, beside the garden.
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