THE GUEST

By Peter Woodgate

Peaceful is a garden,

Especially with a glass of wine,

I’d finished a spot of pruning

And the sun began to shine.

I watched the birds begin to feed,

Some were there to drink,

A lovely sight for me to view

I think.

My eyes began to wander

at the colours now in view,

pots I’d planted in the spring

erupting now, on cue.

It was then I spied something odd

beneath the ivy tree,

a sort of brownish colour,

was there for me to see.

It was not a plant, I was certain of that,

and approached with minor caution,

upon identification,

my immediate thought was action.

My mobile phone was handy,

I snapped him there and then,

a fox, there, in my garden,

On day leave from his den.

Fox visits are quite common,

but this, I felt, was steep.

He wasn’t just in my garden,

the rascal was asleep.

I studied him, there, for a moment,

he awoke, shook his head, studied me,

I spoke to him softly, “Now look here mate,

stay there and I’ll charge B&B.

 

By Peter Woodgate