The dogs won’t leave the garden beds alone,
my fault for using organic compost, ripe
smell intoxicates them, more so than bone,
they paw and dig, crush the rising new life.

I could fence every thing off, but it would feel
too much a prison in that part of the plot.
What of the squirrels, tomatoes appeal,
they take small bites, leave the rest to rot?

It’s hard to let go, allow nature its course
when you’ve put time and hope into a thing,
watered and fed it, picked aphids and worse
from its leaves, to just relax while birds sing.

My daughter out to sun in her two-piece suit,
now boys, thick as weeds, after forbidden fruit.