Garden of Poetry

 
Something’s out in the garbage bin,
Too loud for just the rain,
And not quite in rhythm for wind.
But it’s too hard to tell in this din,
With the moon gone and the stars turned in.
Almost impossible to catch a fiend!
By morning there will only be muddy paw prints
And fish fins left over from dinner,
Scattered around the bushes by a goblin.

~ Daniel F Mitchell