Foxes and fawns
have been playing
in the lily beds again.
Blossoms are gone, neatly sheared,
new plants uprooted,
disrupting my plans.
Who’s to say
this plan’s not better?
As a matter of survival.
The fawns leave me heart shaped hoof prints
where they dance,
snacking on lemon and orange sweetness,
making good use of brilliance.
I can’t begrudge the foxes
a little digging,
uprooting,
in search of voles;
greedy fertile party crashers
gobbling down stem, root and bulbs
leaving nothing for next year.
Deer take only the top buds.
More lilies are coming on.
Foxes are efficient,
leaving only tiny tufts of vole.
The roots will be saved,
leaving enough for everyone:
foxes, fawns, and bandits.
We continue to share the lily bed.
It’s a good plan
I think, packing the dirt
back around the roots, wishing
I’d thought of it,
taking note to plant more lilies next year,
taking note of how to bless each other,
even the voles.
