Past imperfect

We ripped all of the weeds out of our garden 

And planted so-called deer-proof plants, 

Only to find there’s really no such thing. 

As we watch the deer chew the leaves 

Off all the stalks, leaving us a garden 

 That’s just full of sticks and mulch, 

I’m reminded of the words 

Of Scottish poet Robert Burns: 

“The best laid plans o’ mice an’ men 

Gang aft agley,” and find I miss the weeds, 

 Much as I miss some past imperfect presidents…