Trestle Tables

 

Far from the misty shores of the sceptered isle,

where greenhouses dot the landscape.

In sunnier climes the English gentleman,

laments the absence of his potting shed.

That haven where he once sowed his tomato seeds,

with cucumbers and radishes to boot.

Slightly above the Tropic of Cancer,

this gentleman has to improvise.

Greenhouses are scarce and barely necessary,

but the old reliable trestle tables come to the fore.

Easily and quickly erected they replace,

the old familiar potting shed.

In the glaring sun plant pots are assembled,

arranged in neat rows as the serious business begins.

Packets of seeds carefully placed and pressed into the soil,

A lizard scampers across a nearby wall,

stops and glances at this strange ritual.

In haste he disappears into a trellis work,

and then on into the orange grove close by.

He is bemused at this new type of gardening,

alien to these island shores.

Known for their innovation and ingenuity,

this gentleman completes his task.

A gin and tonic with crushed ice and lemon,

arrives to soothe his dripping forehead.

He turns to his wife and says,

English seeds my dear, do you think they will take?

She smiles with satisfaction as the lizard,

returns for a second look.