Garter Snake, My New Friend In The Backyard Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

A slender friend, not long, not wide,
Sixteen to twenty-six inches inside.
From spring's first thaw to autumn's cool,
He's busy, breaking nature's rule.

With keeled scales, a single plate,
He moves with grace, sealed by his fate.
A dusky cloak, a midnight hue,
Three yellow stripes, for all to view.

The side ones sit, a gentle gleam,
On second, third, a waking dream.
His belly pale, a sunny spread,
Or blue, or green, where he has tread.

Dark spots may peek, on edges neat,
His upper lip, a yellow treat.
Unmarked, it shines, a gentle sign,
This little snake, a friend of mine.

He hunts for frogs, for toads so slow,
For worms that wriggle, where they go.
Insects and fish, a varied plate,
He finds his food, seals his own fate.

In woods and fields, by water's edge,
He makes his home, on every ledge.
Wet lands call, a watery call,
He overwinters, standing tall.

Below the frost, in dens so deep,
Where burrows hide, and secrets sleep.
With many others, in a pile,
They share their space, for a long while.

An active hunter, on the go,
He finds his meals, puts on a show.
And when it's time, a surprise he'll bear,
Live young, twenty-seven, beyond compare.

The grass snake known, the garden's friend,
Most often seen, until the end.
The female larger, full and stout,
While males are thin, about and out.

Two kinds he is, a local breed,
Red-sided, eastern, sowing their seed.
A common sight, this little snake,
His hunt he make, his path he'll take.