Born of
a natural gardener
I turn
over the soil,
Mow the
lawn,
Pull up
the weeds,
It makes
me yawn.
I cut
back shrubs
My hands
I prick.
What the
hell makes
A
gardener tick?
Many an
insect
Are
ready to bit
And big
creepy crawlies
Are out
there to fright.
Don't
know the difference
Between
weeds and a flower,
To plant
one and grow one
I've not
got that power.
I look at my garden
sit here
and sigh
The sun
shines down-
A big
blue sky.
It's
time again
To go
and do war
Why is
it only me
That
finds it a chore?
Re cut
the grass,
Work up
a sweat,
Wish it
were winter
Wish it
were wet.
Rake up
the cutting
Turn
over the soil
Very
therapeutic
Labour
and toil!
Dear Mum
and Dad,
I can't
be like you,
But if
you're looking down -
The
gardens' still askew!
22nd April 1995
1 comment:
Think this speaks for itself! Luckily, we now have only grass to mow!
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