But they're really always here,
Watching in the woods to our right.
So long as they're out of the dog's sight
We'll keep this a pleasant walk.
She's not a cat; she doesn't stalk.
But one look at a doe or a buck
And she's off like a shot, as fast as fuck.
The circle of sunlight above the path --
That's the garden, where UD's political wrath
Cools itself when, in wind and light,
The high trees' leaves take flight
And a Cooper's hawk lets her stare
At its pale breast by just roosting there.
Robins scatter the unleaved dirt...
Bird, recites UD, thou never wert!
(Of people like UD, who spontaneously recite Shelley,
America apparently has had a very full belly.)
