I could sit and watch flowers for hours and hours

but as luck would have it I can't,

'cause something will always need trimming and so

to work with the snips I feel I must go

removing improving

feeding or seeding,

a host of golden moments lost

when I worry about an imminent frost

and reach for the fleece

there's really no peace,

 

and I live on a wing and a prayer

while snails and slugs await in the trugs

to evade the plans I have laid

and twist and turn with their slimy ways

until the end of my weary days

when I could watch flowers for hours and hours

instead of lessons in life and death

in a garden that makes me short of breath.