The Garden

Speak these words softly for those who hear hard. In 
a moment, a man naked will run through ‘The Garden’. 

Okay, so the truth is he won’t be quite nude. 
He’ll bear boxers, briefly, to not appear 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 plum tree, through timbered split rails 
you’ll see little dogs playing, just chasing their tails

as the man sits 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 
that there are things without which a man can’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 with masked 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 can damage good stuff like our veggies and fruit. 
Were it only a few, we might not give a hoot,
but it isn't that simple. Excuse this brief rant. 
Each hog and masked bandit can eat a 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 ‘The Garden’, I’m only one man 
with one clear solution to problems in the yard. 
If you've followed along, then you know just how hard 
we’ve worked to keep critters out from back there.

So, this year we’ll plant more. They will just have to share.