Wind carries far-off rapid rifle fire rippling roar,

assaulting ears, disturbing calm.

Dissonant intrusion in this happy haven,

this lovely, lonely garden.

I rest the spade against the fence

and wonder

whether to take offence.

Do they hate their targets?

What do the bullets mean?

Do they enjoy what they do?

Does it make them happy?

Does it make them violent of mind?

Do they feel they are doing me good?

Do they care?

I shake my head and reach for the undaunted spade,

which will do no permanent damage.