Whose Garden Is It?

And there was I, my gardener's keen
eye fixed probingly on bare soil and
plants not yet seen, searching out signs 
of emerging life, examining minutely 
the slender wands of shrubs for a glimpse
of green, to determine if rose stems
had yet sent tentative red buds to
signal the plant an all-safe advisory
and taking stock of unfortunate die-back
when life-on-the-hoof itself was suddenly 
encountered in a fuzzy bundle
rounding on the garden, only to
pull back, astonished as I was at 
our serendipitous meeting. But I
spoke to him and invited him and
reassured, he completed his journey
settling comfortably on the winter
feeding platform for squirrels and
birds, still in business, offering
our hospitality to all who venture
forth, including juvenile raccoons.
So he fed to his brave little heart's
content and I continued my hopeful
spring inventory of loss and gain
satisfied with reasonable expectations.