In the garden behind the house, the May peas
are at last ready to eat; I pop a handful of them into
my mouth like so many green colored M&Ms.
The scarecrow, his eyes ever watchful; stands idly by
with a head full of straw and worm ridden ideologies
he borrowed from the same place he got his clothes…
A mole has dug a trench from under the Willow tree
to the tender young lettuces and it samples a leaf
of the supreme vegetation while over on the fence,
rests a hungry Crow who questions the wisdom of us all....
2008 © T S
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem