‘The Friend In My Garden’ © Joe Canning 2016. All Rights Reserved.

‘The Friend In My Garden’
© Joe Canning 2016. All Rights Reserved.

My friend’s a little robin that sits and watches me.
Never from a rooftop and never from a tree.
he hops and bobs before me, his head all to one side,
he watches as I turn the sod to see what he can find.

A wary little fellow once, when first I saw his face,
wondering I suppose, if there were cats about the place.
He watched my every movement with his scrutinizing eyes,
and oft times when I kicked the spade he’d rapidly take flight.

But mostly within minutes he’d present himself again, and;
as the days and weeks went by we played our watching game,
he’d inch a little closer to the feast before my feet,
and I’d say, “come on Robbie lad! your breakfast it awaits”

But he was having none of it and held fast where he stood,
he’d settle for a bug or two and fly to feed his brood.
His trust in this old gardener boy it seemed would never come,
and every day he watched me as my vegetable shoots were born.

One day I held my hand out with a wriggler in my palm,
and he slowly moved toward me and my stiff unmoving arm.
He’d stop and watch and stop again, but came that glorious day,
he helped himself to breakfast from my hand then flew away.

My cabbage patch is thriving and my feathered friend as well,
each morning he awaits me by my small allotment den.
So my message I suppose to you, is persevere my friend,
bide your time and trust will come, but first it must be earned.

Joe Canning’s Poetry Page on Facebook


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