The Garden

Read words written softly for those hearing hard. In 
a moment, a Man, naked, runs through The Garden. 
Okay, so the truth is he isn't quite nude. 
He bears boxers, briefly, so as not seem rude. 
The Garden is properly private, in a sense, 
but of course it’s quite easy to see through the fence. 

If you look past the fig tree, through timbered split rails 
you will see little dogs minus most of their tails, 
and a man running still, on his hill, talking silly. 
Look if you want, please don't point at his ... Will he 
or won't he? The question remains 
regarding his guarding. The Garden pertains 
to all the odd things a man can't compromise. 

This much is certain, you needn't surmise 
there are things without which a man won't do.
Kept unto myself as I give mine to you 
in a word, just a whisper, this quieting sound:
For those hard of hearing, it’s hardly profound. 

We live among bandits, and burrowing hogs. 

Relating that extends this ideologue 
to show how we know to dispose them as such. 
We might not mind them, except for how much 
they damage good stuff; all our veggies and fruit. 
Were it only a few, we might not give a hoot 
but it isn't that simple. Excuse this small rant. 
THE HOGS AND THE BANDITS DESTROY THE WHOLE PLANT! 

So, rather than complain or get all intense 

resolve is our answer. At first came the fence, 
but that wasn’t enough to keep all varmints out. 
To find resolution, again, there's no doubt 
that is why I'm writing, so you'll understand. 

Protecting our garden, I’m only one man 
with one clear solution to rats in our yard. 
If you've followed along, then you know it's not hard 
to keep unwanted critters away from out back.
I believe in Dog, and my best friend is Russell, Jack!