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A Poem for My Garden

We have a garden that we do nothing to/with/for/about. Absolutely nothing. There's an irrigation system that waters it, but that's it. Still, we haven't managed to kill anything since we moved in 5 years ago.

Miraculously, some new flowers bloomed today, undoubtedly in honor of Our Royal Birthday. Unfortunately for them, nothing pisses me off like flowers. They attract bees. I hate bees. Thus, I was inspired to create this poem for the bothersome buds (just in case they already haven't gotten the hint):

Violets (or whatever the hell these are) are blue.


Roses are red.


If either required effort,
They'd all be dead.

Comments (6)

That's a really moving poem. Unfortunately, I moved my bowels, and now I need a colonoscopy.

You do have quite a way with words, Robin.

Ah, our next poet laureate I suspect! You write with truth, if not beauty!

Happy Birthday-- can't believe I nearly missed it!

Thanks, Leah.

The Queen as Poet Laureate? Somehow, I doubt that would fly, although I do love the thought!

annette baesel:

Well its a good thing you are good with clever prose because you'd never feed yourself as a poet (or apparently as a gardener either). Happy Birthday, Queen!

I'd definitely starve as a poet, but then again, don't they all?

Thanks for the bday wishes!

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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on August 31, 2010 4:04 PM.

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