The Muttle

The muttle is engagingly
slow and
de
lib er ate.
He is a gardener.  His vines 
yield him
a
single pea.
He spends his summer watching them
and
lets me
deliver it.
He never worries
where I go,
taking
his pea with me,
He simply asks me where I've been
when I
return
again.

In winter, muttles like to dine
well into Christmastide
And after that he takes 
a nap
dreaming
about
his pea.
He wakes, when with the
rounding
year,
sun shines upon
his hide.
The muttle waits
to plant in spring
till green is
on the tree.

(The nonsense of the
verse
is this:
The muttle is
quite
gardenless.)

March 19, 1980
Feburuary 2, 1998
(June, 1999)