Yardly Goings On

The morning is
The soft squeak of the rusty gate
The simple entrance to my yard
Where the turkeys like to congregate

With their gobbling and gawking
Chortling and guffawing
Laughing turkey laughs
At some joke I'd have to contemplate

The squirrels over think things
Darting in and out of their zone
Suspicious of every shadow
That the low hanging sun does bring

Robins and woodpeckers
Each doing their thing
One tap tapping a tune
The other constantly gathering
Gleaning flotsam for a nest
The perpetual act of nesting

Then there is me
Observing what is there
Stalker of the yard
Deserving of a restraining order
Though staying fifty feet away would be hard
For on days where I am lazy
I certainly don't go very far