At Peace in the Garden
By John Herlihy

I sit here in the garden amid the pheasants and peacocks;
They stroll studiously amid the flowers of the garden walks.

The peacock mother, dressed in white, sits nestled on her eggs,
Keeping them warm, but also protecting them from crows, the dregs.
A dirty old white chicken with a flaming red comb, a fighter I’m told,
Struts about the garden with nervous movements, never to get old.
Soon to become the main ingredient for the steaming vegetable stew;
For now, he glories in the passing days becoming increasingly few.
The raucous crows swoop down from on high to steal grains of rice;
Even in this bucolic setting, feathered thieves exact their own price.

The male peacock struts around the garden and is still but a boy;
His fabulous feathered train falls down in the grass still but a toy.
The garden lawn spread down as a carpet, emerald green and lush;
My frantic city mind has gone quiet, so that listening I hear the hush.
The garden itself framed with intertwined fruit trees standing in a row;
Mangoes are in season, the pomegranates ripen, the plums hang low.
The dying light of twilight transmits into my heart its historic glow;
All of nature seems to have noticed my arrival, its blessing to bestow.

I sit here quietly in the garden amid the peacocks and pheasants;
In a village far from home, at peace amid farmhands and peasants.