GARDEN IN THE MORNING
Lovely beyond words,
Visiting the apple tree
On its way to something better.
Gleaming palely through the leaves.
On the fence,
Two black collared doves
Sit grumpy and silent,
Watching the crows swooping low.
Not fooled by their wings
Splashing shade on the hot grass
For their killing patches.
The old cat,
Marmalade fur thin and crumpled
As creased taffeta,
Knowing climbing is beyond him
Takes his anger out on the brassy magpie,
Chasing this feathered beauty
From one end of the garden
To the other.
Until the magpie tires of taunting
The old cat.
Wisely remembering its sharp claws
And its will to kill those that torment him.
©2021 Gwen Grant.