I thought I heard you in the garden but when I went to see There were ravens in the berries squawking, mocking me. You’ve toiled in vain the ravens blithered for here we haven’t sown so your labor here is wasted for you see it’s nearly gone. And so it seemed, as I turned sadly, another chore another day. Moth and rust here is triumphant and the ravens fly away. I thought I heard you in the garden and so I went to see but, briars and brambles choked the pathway scratching, piercing me. Your labor here is vain they mocked for once the way was clear but, where we were we are again and will be through the years. Fight us but the battle ending is no option here. Join us and we’ll smother Heaven and all else that you hold dear. Rest from all your labors, let the world care for it’s self. Drink the wine of leisure and, seek the poppy’s help. There will always be tomorrow. Another day, another time. Another day to labor. Another chance to set the line. Why trouble with the slipping of the stones that make the wall. For years they’ve stood and just a few have now begun to fall. Just a few have shifted and fallen in the night. Can’t it be a little wrong and still be mostly right. Why the sudden urgency? Why all the alarm? A little here, a little there will not bring any harm. And so in time the crumbling of life will leave it’s scar. The heavens dim and hide away the leading of the Star. Little foxes spoil the vines and chores undone define wanderings of a wayward fool uncertain of the times. Never owning that it’s borrowed as the days flow into years. And soon the mount of neglect is causing greater fears as he looks at heights uncertain, depths that fall beyond all sight and he cowers in the darkness and blanket of the night. Come soon young man and see greater joy found in the tending, though I know it’s never ending and the toil is never done. There is purpose in the morning and peace in setting sun when the voice heard in the garden whispers there is work that must be done.