an Orc in my garden!

there was an Orc in my garden!

i heard it was an invasive pest,

so i grabbed it between my fingers and firmly squeezed

until it snapped, crackled, and popped, 

the final sound much more subdued than a bonfire roaring,

almost like a whimper from a newborn

after breast feeding,

the crib and pillow and soft blankets and toys

all comforting and offering security,

a full belly with gurgles of affection,

so hush my baby don't you cry:

the Orcs will eventually die!

i heard the mother natures' song,

& it was naturally voiced with common tears

that filled her deep sorrow

watching an Orc, heedless, who fell into a communal pond

and drowned when his dangling feet reached for the bottom,

reached and reached,

as uncomprehending eyes grew cold and blank,

unseeing the surface many miles above,

where the noon day sun brightened the surrounding wheat fields

and a harvest began anew,

farmers on their trusty tractors, diesel fueled and chugging

into their new day,

bellies filled with gurgles of affection.