The bucks are whispering secrets
In my garden again, telling tales of domination
And reassuring one another
That just because their horns still bear
The fuzz of spring, it doesn’t mean
That they are getting soft, it’s just
That summer has been slow in warming up.
“But look,” they say,
“The foxglove and the lavender
Are at their peak, and soon we will be, too;
Remember last year?” And they smile,
Knowing the autumn fruits will soon await them
In the trees:
Plums, apples, cherries,
All ready for the taking.
No comments:
Post a Comment