T'was the season before winter, and on the homestead
Jack-o-lanterns were rotting, the zucchini was dead.
The sheet mulch was tucked round the pear tree with care,
In hopes that next year's pumpkin patch would be there.
The hens all nestled all snug in their coop,
Dreaming of laying eggs and not becoming chicken soup.
And I in my boots and dirt covered pants
Pulled out the last of the tomato plants.
When back in the yard, there arose such a clatter,
That I sprang from the raised beds to see what was the matter.
Away from the cover crop, I flew like a flash.
Dropping fresh picked bok choy in my mad dash.
The red fallen leaves on the unswept patio
Gave the luster of pandemonium to the objects below.
Two naughty squirrels digging up my winter bed
Chomping bulbs and making me see red.
I may be forty but I'm still lively quick.
I knew in a moment, they were after my garlic
More rapid than eagles, I sprang down the stairs.
I shouted and stomped and shooed them from there.
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
Up to the fence-top, those rodents they flew
With a mouth full of garlic and tulips too.
I spoke not a word but returned to my work,
Mulched the fruit trees and then turned with a jerk.
And laying a hand atop the garden gate,
And giving a nod, I knew it was late.
I swung the gate closed, and to myself give a whistle,
Hoping the mulch would prevent weeds and thistles.
But I did exclaim, ere the garden disappeared out of sight,
"Happy fall to all and to the garden, good night."
** I'm linking to the Homestead Barn Hop.
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