Here in the garden-bed, <br />Hoeing the celery, <br />Wonders the Lord has made <br />Pass ever before me. <br />I see the young birds build, <br />And swallows come and go, <br />And summer grow and gild, <br />And winter die in snow. <br /> <br />Many a thing I note, <br />And store it in my mind, <br />For all my ragged coat <br />That scarce will stop the wind. <br />I light my pipe and draw, <br />And, leaning on my spade, <br />I marvel with much awe <br />O'er all the Lord hath made. <br /> <br />Now, here's a curious thing: <br />Upon the first of March <br />The crow goes house-building <br />In the elm and in the larch. <br />And be it shine or snow, <br />Though many winds carouse, <br />That day the artful crow <br />Begins to build his house. <br /> <br />But thenthe wonder's big ! <br />If Sunday fell that day, <br />Nor straw, nor screw, nor twig, <br />Till Monday would he lay. <br />His black wings to his side, <br />He'd drone upon his perch, <br />Subdued and holy-eyed <br />As though he were in church. <br /> <br />The crow's a gentleman <br />Not greatly to my mind, <br />He'll steal what seeds he can, <br />And all you hide he'll find. <br />Yet though he's bully and sneak, <br />To small birds, bird of prey, <br />He counts the days of the week, <br />And keeps the Sabbath Day.<br /><br />Katharine Tynan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-gardener-sage/
