Life of the Garden
By John Herlihy

The life of the garden has a beauty all its own;
Wisdom shows its head from mere dust grown.
The bees are always busy as the flowers bloom;
Beneath life’s surface, we can nothing assume.

The farmer, Farmana, has a vigilant eye;
Guinea fowl eggs in danger, he knows why.
The petulant birds quarrelsome and spry;
In stealth, he takes the fresh eggs on the sly.

My noble friend, Farmana, a gruff old bear;
Eggs in his paw, none the worse for wear.
Not chicken eggs, but those of the guinea fowl;
The plump raucous birds always on the prowl.

He sits the dirty old chicken on the eggs;
Adroitly, the anxious hen adjusts her legs.
With tender loving care, she shifts her thick bulk,
Covering the fragile shells by her warming hulk.

The mother hen sits there silent and mute,
Head bent downward, looking very astute.
She sits amid the straw with nary a cluck;
Gone are the days when she ran in the muck.

Day after endless day, she sits there quietly,
Incubating the eggs with a patience motherly.
Who would have thought the hen so tender
Would outdo the pet speckled hen in splendor.

Although not her chicklings, it doesn’t matter;
She only knows her heart beats pitter patter.
Beneath her the life force gathers and grows;
In so doing, she adds to the destiny she sows.

The moment arrives when she opens the shells;
She knows not the hour but her instinct tells.
Peck by loving peck, the sturdy shells are broken;
Behold the seedlings emerge as a magic token.

For ages old, the life of the garden continues,
A place as sacred as any other earth’s venues.
Nature aided in her task by human intervention.
As evil lurks everything, this but simple prevention;

My oh my, how the mother hen has met the moment;
In mothering the foundlings, no need for atonement.
Her knowledge off the mark, but her instincts pure;
Protecting the changelings her reputation to ensure.

I looked my friend, Farmana, in the eye and asked,
Whatever brought it about to take on such a task.
For once he let down his rough mask and said:
“I don’t know; the idea just came into my head.”

Instinct, I thought quietly to myself, simple, pure.
The farmer Farmana turned away, his smile obscure.