I like the eucalypt above the deck.
I fancy the biota in my yard.
But critters make their messes. Squirrels wreck
the seedlings and they piss from high above.
The crows I love deface the wood with fleck
and splat of poop – tenacious chalky white.
Attempting to ignore it strains my neck,
and trying for the look I like is hard.
I chose a garden. What did I expect?

(Magic 9)

This entry was posted in Critters, Home, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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