Snoozing On the Patio Table
To help fellow gardeners answer the awful question - 'What shall I do first?' - I decided to write a small poem. The writing of it kept me busy and chuckling for hours and hours...
You see, the old gardener has finally retired, and is busy transforming herself into a genuine full-time plantswoman - and gardening poet? Lets not forget that 'dahlia' rhymes with 'failure'. Oops.
Of course, this took up valuable time which I should have been spending starting my morning's gardening.
And I owe the hugest apologies to A.A. Milne, whose first verse I have pinched. Just to get started, you understand.
There was once an old gardener that nobody knew
She had so many things which she wanted to do
That, whenever she thought it was time to begin,
She couldn't because of the state she was in.
She looked at her plants which all needed potting
But the soil was too dry and the compost not rotting.
She needed to water, and shift all the hoses,
But the path to the pump house was blocked by the roses.
So she grabbed her best pruners, to head for the door,
When she remembered the aphids, and beetles, and more.
Good organic gardeners squash bugs with their thumb
But her gardening gloves had been left in the sun.
And where had she left them? Where had she been weeding?
Near where the nicotianas were self-seeding.
But they blocked the path, so first she should clear it.
Where was the rake? Try the compost, or near it.
The compost needed water, so first shift the hoses
And that meant pushing past those thorny bugged roses.
What to do first? It was a dilemma.
And where were her gloves? She just couldn't remember.
Just too many choices, so she brewed up some tea,
Settled down in the chair to watch daytime TV.
She checked all the channels, remote on her knee
There must be a gardening programme to see!