You wouldn’t think,
What with the nicely potted flowers
That flank the stained wooden garden door,
And, what with the bold golden colors
Of the distressed garden wall,
No, you wouldn’t think
That the single, bare, and unassuming branch
Visible through the barred window
Would maintain such a grip on my attention.
Squirrel eyeing me on deck,
Shifts gaze to baguette chunks below –
Matter of great import
Birdbath freshly filled
Winged-guest sips in mind --
The most visible setting in Autumn’s garden,
Milkweed stretches as high as an eye,
With nectar filled goblets to entice passing monarchs,
And ripe virgin leaves to feed royal issue.
It is easier, I think, to argue for the existence of God while standing in a well-tended garden.