I live on thirty acres, full of woods

I live on thirty acres, full of woods
And farmland gold in summer, rich in autumn,
Creeping thick with creatures of the Lord
Who bear me fruits and flowers by their labor.

Around the corner from my door are wasps,
Their nest of leaves, my well is tucked against it.
Even milkweed Monarchs, bright, vivacious,
Populate my land from ridge to valley.

Twas Milton whom I read as blitzed was I
By purple blooded flies on my vacation-
For in my house will I find fewer bugs
Than in the room I slept at Basin Harbor.